642 Things to Write about: 10

Prompt: Write a scene in which a person is leaving a restaurant with her husband and bumps into a former lover.  What words are exchanged or not exchanged?  What do her body positions say?  (For the sake of this prompt, I am changing husband to fiancee and former lover will remain the same)

It was a night of celebration, albeit a meager one.  With a smile and a blush, Annamarie let her fiancee toast her success, the day care she’d be starting soon enough.  It had taken her so long to get things up and running, but she had done it.  The pride that she felt was a small emotion in comparison to the warmth of Marcus’ gray green eyes.  e was proud of her.  She knew she shouldn’t have her cheeks flare up with color, however, it was a habit.  She always blushed, especially when put in the spot light.  He toasted her and she graciously accepted, before leaning upwards and giving him a kiss.

Their dinner, at the fancy little Italian place an hour away, had been divine.  Next, Marcus had promised her they’d stop at the chocolate shop before they left for home, perhaps even the bookstore.  Her soon to be husband knew not to tempt her with books, or they’d never leave.  The dinner was exquisite, she had dressed for the occasion.  Her blonde hair spilled around her bare shoulders, the purple dress bringing easy color to her pale skin.  Annamarie had even worn high heels, something she only did once in a  blue moon.  Stumbling on her higher than normal footwear, Marcus caught her and helped her into the champagne colored coat.  Once outside, she stumbled again, but not into Marcus’ strong and steady embrace.

Laughing, she spoke before looking up.  “I’m so sorry!  I’m a bit of klutz!”  With another giggle she looked up, only to have the color washed from her face.  It was David.  Stepping back, she did her best to keep herself away from him.

“Anna?  Is that you?”

“It would seem that way wouldn’t it.  How have you been David?”

“Been worse I suppose, but you wouldn’t know about that would you?  You look amazing after all.”  His eyes slunk over her body and Annamarie felt more than a sense of revulsion.  This man had used her in a scheme that had not quite come to fruition.  It was something he had always been bitter about.  Happy to feel Marcus’ body behind her, she spoke.

“Thank you.  I believe you remember my fiancee Marcus?”

Staunchly, both men both shook hands.  It was a battle to the death with that one handshake.  However, Marcus was not only taller, but a lot stronger than her former lover.  Feeling safer already, Annamarie started to make excuses for them to go.  Marcus obliged her and they left the scene.  Muttering as they left, she pushed the thought of the her ex lover out of her mind.

David was not so lucky in removing the thoughts of that lady out of his head.  She had looked amazing.  Older yes, but a classy older.  She looked as though she had come into her own.  He wondered if she still spent too much time on her make up, or if she was wearing tights with those heels.  Knowing her love for romance, she was probably wearing garters and thigh highs.  Sneaking a peak, he hoped to see any lingering glances by her.  Just one lingering glance and he’d go back to her.

They were not even on the street anymore.  David sighed and pushed forward, looking for the liquer store.  Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure about ending his night sober.  Not with thoughts of Annamarie, his former lover, dancing about in his head.

642 Things to Write About: 8

Prompt: What happened that night?

Meredith couldn’t remember the exact details.  Perhaps she didn’t want to remember them.  Her mind was rejecting the past, so she started to make up stories based on her favorite television shows and books.  There wasn’t much else to do when you were in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital at twelve thirty at night.  She could be sleeping, but she was tired of sleeping.  Meredith wanted to talk to someone, or to write.  Settling for her imagination, the soon to be college student let her mind wander.  There were no dark thoughts there, none at all.  Only the possibilities of a hundred worlds.

How had she gotten the scars on her arms?  perhaps a demon had attacked, a werewolf, a windego.  With a smile, she thought the Winchester brothers might have popped in to save her.  Had she noticed Sam and Dean? Was Castiel with them?  Did they save me?

Speaking of werewolves, maybe Lupin had gone rogue and attacked her during a transformation.  She did remember the full moon.  Maybe it was magical what happened, she couldn’t recall.

If she had looked at her admission forms, she’d remember.  The forms that said she had cut herself over seventy times with a razor blade.

Meredith didn’t want to remember, not yet.  For now, she’d stay in her fantasy world

642 Things to Write About: 7

Prompt: How you’re just like your mother

There are days where I say something or do something and am under the sudden, perfect knowledge that it was something my mother would do or say.  For a moment, I am embarrassed  sad in a way.  Then I realize we may all end up like our parents and that I am simply more aware of it than my friends.  While I see the traits my father has given me more often than mom (the blonde hair, blue eyes, messy nature)  they are there.

We both tend to be more introverted, but that does not mean we cannot have fun. It’s difficult for both of us to admit that we’re wrong, especially when we yell at each other.  We both like the same sort of cowl neck sweaters and impulsive, situational swearing.  For example:

When my mom swears, we all point it out.  She’s usually swearing over dropping something.  I dropped two rolls of bread after grocery shopping and swore in the drive way.  Mom laughed.

We are similar, but not.  I know I”ll end up turning into my parents one day.  It’s just a strange thought to see those qualities now.

642 Things to Write about: 6

Prompt: How someone (or something) saved your life.

It wasn’t one specific person who saved my life, not that I was in dire need of saving anyway.  High school had started and I could feel that all intense pull to retreat, to become the introvert that I know I am some days.  It was a bad situation, but as August drew to an end, I did in fact find my savior.

My savior was no one human and not one specific event.  My savior was marching band.  Yes, this is an entry into my band geek past.  I was terrified of high school, it meant growing up and that was something I was keen to avoid as a fourteen year old.  I did not know how the dynamics of the high school worked, I didn’t have a clue as to what I was doing.

Marching band has this thing the week before school which my mother thought was brilliant.  It’s called band camp, or as every band student fondly refers to it as… hell week. In the late summer sun, on a field, in a practice room or in the locker room, we band geeks thrive on this week or die by it.  It a week where music is learned, marching is taught or retaught, and drills are tattooed into our heads like the lyrics to a favorite song.

Marching band was my savior, my little super power that kept me going.  While I was at odds with concert band since middle school practices were held far too early for my tastes, marching band was an entirely different story.  Marching band met after school and for Friday football games.  It was those games where you learned how to endure cold, hot, itching uniforms and the terrifying swarms of students at the snack bar.

Coming into high school was terrifying to me.  Marching band gave me a place, a thing, a duty.  Senior year when I really was faced with growing up, marching band gave me a job.  Assistant to the director and student director.  While I had desperately hoped to become drum major, I did have my shining moment.  My awkwardness was overcome when I got up on that podium and conducted.  I did that in front of thousands of people on night or two.  It was the biggest rush I have felt.

Marching band saved me.

642 Things to Write About: 5

Prompt: Start a story with the line “Everyone whispered about ____________ , but no one had the courage to talk to her.”

(This little story is coming from this ongoing work in my head, one that was kind of sprung by the last 642 things to write about, so please enjoy another character on the scene!)

Everyone whispered about Maxine Darcy, but no one had the courage to talk to her.  First off, she hated when anyone from her parent’s circle of upper crust, high class friends called her Maxine.  Maxine had been her great grandmother’s name and the current owner of that name despised it.  It sounded, elderly, matronly, and unattractive.  Max, as she preferred to go by, was none of those things.

At seventeen, she was young, lithe, exuberant  and constantly looking for fun things to do.  She supposed, or actually, she knew that it was her quality to search for fun things to do that had gotten her into this predicament in the first place.  It was also her endless wallet of cash and her endless supply of stubbornness to show her parents up that had led up to this.

The benefit at the country club was warm, March had given them quite a few warmer than average days.  Outside, on both the garden and the east lawn, a modest tea party had been brought to life.  The warm sunshine fell on ivory table clothes and lacy napkins.  Thick cream parchment held name cards and each and everyone of the faces, including her parents, grandmother on her father’s side, her brother, and her brother’s new girlfriend, held some form of shock or anger.

All Max had wanted was an entrance.  She’s certainly made one in more ways than one.  To begin, the dress.  Her mother had sent the dress to her brother’s apartment because that was where Max had been living.  What her mother didn’t know was that Max hadn’t been attending school for over a month a half.  Thanks to her brother’s interfering phone call, now she did.  Mary Darcy had sent the most proper, elegant, tasteless tea gown she could find in order to adequately show her displeasure in her youngest child.  Along with the dress had a note, Max couldn’t remember much of it.  The first two lines were more about this would make her brother and her father look.  She wondered when the last time her mother gave a care about her.

The dress, originally had been a lovely peachy color that would have gone splendidly with Max’s original brown hair.  Oops, forgot to tell Mom I dyed it.  The peach had clashed with her warm skin and the newly platinum blonde hair, so the young girl had decided to get it altered.   Taking into the town closest to her brother’s home, she had a dress maker alter the dress slight.  Instead of ending at the ankles or having cap sleeves, the dress was now strapless and the skirt was fuller, wider, and ended around her knee caps.  The peach had been transformed into a rocking red that did wonders for her.

To top the entire thing off, Max had arrived on her latest purchase.  It wasn’t a car, or even a detestable motorcycle.  It was a horse.

The former owner had named him Kelvin, for his hot blood, but Max had taken to calling him Cal.  He had a buckskin coat, all golden cream with black points and a perfect black mane.  He had been the only thing that had gotten Max through this hellish year thus far and she had finally saved up enough of her interest to purchase him.  She’d been riding him since the beginning of last school year , but her mother refused to indulge the childish notion of ‘buying her daughter a pony’.  Cal stood taller, seventeen hands, strong, lean, and a fierce.  Max worried about her matching red heels getting caught in the stirrups, but then decided against dismounting.  She would wait for her mother to come forward.  Inevitably, she did.

“Maxine Eugenia Darcy, get off of that beast!” She screeched under her breath.  Max stood her her ground.

“Or what mother?  You’ll drag me down yourself?  A likely outcome.”

“Maxine, now,” she said, her voice softer, sweeter, and infinitely more terrifying.

“Or what?  You’ll scream at me in front of your precious club?”

Her mother took a different tactic, ignoring Kelvin and his flaring nostrils.

“What did you to that perfectly lovely dress I gave you?  And your hair?  It’s blonde!”

“I decided it need a change.”

“You have had enough changes this year, young lady.  Now get off of your horse and get down here.”

“No.”

The place was quiet.  She looked to see her brother almost smiling.  At least he understood.  At least someone understood why she was doing this.