Uncategorized, Weekly Prompt, writing

Writing Class Prompts

Two prompts this week, I actually kind of like both of them.

“I’m not ready.”

The car engine grumbled, idling in the parking lot. The music was off, rain fell on the windshield in slow but steady drops. Their heat slowly fogged up the windows.

It was a grey day. The way it was raining, the way people moved, the way the air felt. It was all grey. The trees naked without leaves were grey. The colors of cars, buildings, people were muted in grey. The couple in the motionless car were grey.

Neither ready to leave, neither ready to stay. Stuck in that awkward balance of choice, not comfortable with either. They were silent, the engine a soft noise, the gently vibration reminding that a choice was needed, that they couldn’t just sit in a motionless decision.

She looked down at her grey knees, his hand in hers. Didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see his grey eyes, his grey thoughts. She stared at her knees. Felt her toes getting hot from the heater, felt her thoughts getting more grey. Felt more and more comfortable in the grey of the car, in between choices, in between colors.

He squeezed her hand. Grey fingers tightening around her own.

The car gently motored on but never moved. Both pressed further into the grey seats, pressed further into indecision, into the grey.

Rain fell faster, harder, dark grey. Wind picked up throwing fallen leaves against the car, against the grey. Stay or leave, or in between. There was no black or white, only grey.


“Why would I be jealous?”

She has beautiful blond hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Tall and fit. The perfect skin. The perfect body.

Why would I be jealous?

My hair is brown. Depending on the day either frizzy or greasy. My eyes are brown. I’m average height. Average weight. Unperfect skin. Unperfect body.

She has all the best clothes, goes on all the best vacations.

She has the best car, the best job.

Why would I be jealous?

I have useful clothes, clothes for hiking, for climbing. My vacations aren’t the best, I sweat. I cry. I’m in pain. My car breaks down. My job sucks.

She has never seen a mountain sunrise. Never felt warm sunlight filter though leaves. Has never felt like the only person in the woods. She’s scared of bugs, hates mud, once swore that she’s never live more than 10 miles from a coffee shop.

I’ve felt the soft nose of a wild horse. Eaten half developed duck eggs on the other side of the world. Saw the sunrise on a mountain top that was mine and only mine. Walked until my blisters oozed and toenails broke off. Slept on the woods under a million stars. Felt so alone in the world, so lonely, yet powerful, and able, and confident.

Why would I be jealous?


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