Fragments of glass glittered in my hair and blood streamed down my face. I lifted the visor and watched the patterns in the mirror. They fascinated me, the way the streams joined together at my chin, dripping off it like a cliff into my cleavage. The colors, too, mesmerized me: the ruby and the rose crisscrossing tangerine flaps of my ripped collar. A mangled fender skirt hovered halfway through the dust-covered windshield inches from my face, and when he saw it, my brother burst into big pearly tears. It was the first time in my life I’d ever seen him blow like that. I didn’t know where to look except at my reflection, bleeding in the mirror, its gleam clouding over to show me a man pinned by the steering wheel. I wasn’t hallucinating. My brother’s tears were for his own pain. We’d better get help, I must have said.
Vital and real. Love the way you incorporated so many colors and sensations.. Those big pearly tears! Favorite lines:"I lifted the visor and watched the patterns in the mirror. They fascinated me, the way the streams joined together at my chin, dripping off it like a cliff into my cleavage." (I'd be tempted to rearrange so that it ends with this startling image).
Needs work, but it's always fun to see what comes from your prompts, Meg.
Sarah Doesn't Care Any More
The rosy sweater she wore to Hannah's birthday, the full cotton skirt, a swirl of color that she found in a bin behind the boutique, her mother's bureau, drawers scattered about the brown grass, its surface scratched. She couldn't take it with her. If she was going to cry, that would have done it. Sarah was steely though. Eyeing her neighbors grimly. As soon as she left, they would blow through her belongings, cold winds lifting, dropping, hugging, carting. Leaving tangerine and green bits of old tea towels to swirl over the barren lawn, pearly, glittery jewelry scattered about. She walked to the bus stop and got on the first bus that stopped. She threw her phone out the window, watched a car run over it. When she got off, she stepped up on the bus stop bench and flew into the deep blue sky. Waking from the dream, sore from curling on the short, hard bench, Sarah looked out at the city, starry with lit windows. For the first time in her life, she did not know what was next.
Wow, Sherri! This is beautiful. I love the poignant quality of this story, so many colors and memories. The story has both movement and compression, LOVE the bus running over the phone (as if obliterating the past) and the feeling you leave with us of being lifted from the familiar into the unknown.
Tim swore that the security guards, the customer service agents, even the cleaners, were watching him while he waited at the airport for his flight and insisted the shoe store where he worked hired them. As I drove him home, Tim vilified his manager for sending him to the conference in Kansas City, "That bastard set me up."
The clouds darkened. An emergency radio broadcast interrupted Janis Joplin, "Tornado warnings include Shelby County." Tim insisted it was all part of their plan.
A funnel cloud headed towards us. I stopped the car, and told Tim, "We gotta take cover in that ditch to save ourselves." I didn’t wait for him. There were a couple inches of water that smelled like dead animals. The tornado passed over, sounding like I was under a moving train. Minutes later I got up and found no damage to my car or the surrounding buildings.
Love it! Darkly funny and politically perfect. Great details, I particularly enjoyed "There were a couple inches of water that smelled like dead animals."
The conspiracy theorist disappears.. I wonder what the narrator's relationship to Tim is (are they friends, siblings, lovers, etc). Nothing not to love Jeff.
The Screaminator creeped up the track towards its peak. Joel and his half-sister Sibb gripped their lap bars. They’d discovered each other through a DNA testing site, surprised they had the same dad.
“We had him on Christmas,” Sibb took a deep breath.
“We had him MLK Day through Thanksgiving,” Joel smirked.
“Mom’d kicked him out by New Years,”
Sibb said, “he’d drink and start putting holes in—“
“The hallway walls!” they screamed on the plunging rollercoaster.
After their stomachs settled, they got hotdogs. Joel saw how, like Dad, Sibb’s rosy smile would bend under a heated conversation. Sibb saw how Joel cradled the food in his napkin, flapping his lips over the steam, same as Dad, the way he’d put her to bed before leaving, not skimping on forehead kisses, blowing a year’s worth of steam off, tucking sheets around her before inhaling the memory in one big gulp.
I'm a sucker for a carnival ride story and this one has it all. The Screaminator! Family angst, (or bio-family angst), dark humor and sadness, hotdogs, a newfound sibling connection that feels lasting, and unexpected tenderness of a father they loved but couldn't keep.
I love how carnivals, circuses, and theme parks already get images flashing in the reader’s mind, and having something tragic, or even out of the ordinary really sets tension in that environment.
I love that one piece of yours in the Novella In Flash, set in the Renaissance Faire— so good!
Collision
Fragments of glass glittered in my hair and blood streamed down my face. I lifted the visor and watched the patterns in the mirror. They fascinated me, the way the streams joined together at my chin, dripping off it like a cliff into my cleavage. The colors, too, mesmerized me: the ruby and the rose crisscrossing tangerine flaps of my ripped collar. A mangled fender skirt hovered halfway through the dust-covered windshield inches from my face, and when he saw it, my brother burst into big pearly tears. It was the first time in my life I’d ever seen him blow like that. I didn’t know where to look except at my reflection, bleeding in the mirror, its gleam clouding over to show me a man pinned by the steering wheel. I wasn’t hallucinating. My brother’s tears were for his own pain. We’d better get help, I must have said.
Vital and real. Love the way you incorporated so many colors and sensations.. Those big pearly tears! Favorite lines:"I lifted the visor and watched the patterns in the mirror. They fascinated me, the way the streams joined together at my chin, dripping off it like a cliff into my cleavage." (I'd be tempted to rearrange so that it ends with this startling image).
Great suggestion! Off to do some transplanting.
Needs work, but it's always fun to see what comes from your prompts, Meg.
Sarah Doesn't Care Any More
The rosy sweater she wore to Hannah's birthday, the full cotton skirt, a swirl of color that she found in a bin behind the boutique, her mother's bureau, drawers scattered about the brown grass, its surface scratched. She couldn't take it with her. If she was going to cry, that would have done it. Sarah was steely though. Eyeing her neighbors grimly. As soon as she left, they would blow through her belongings, cold winds lifting, dropping, hugging, carting. Leaving tangerine and green bits of old tea towels to swirl over the barren lawn, pearly, glittery jewelry scattered about. She walked to the bus stop and got on the first bus that stopped. She threw her phone out the window, watched a car run over it. When she got off, she stepped up on the bus stop bench and flew into the deep blue sky. Waking from the dream, sore from curling on the short, hard bench, Sarah looked out at the city, starry with lit windows. For the first time in her life, she did not know what was next.
Wow, Sherri! This is beautiful. I love the poignant quality of this story, so many colors and memories. The story has both movement and compression, LOVE the bus running over the phone (as if obliterating the past) and the feeling you leave with us of being lifted from the familiar into the unknown.
Thanks, Meg. Your prompts are such good writing practice.
🙂🙂🙂
Tim swore that the security guards, the customer service agents, even the cleaners, were watching him while he waited at the airport for his flight and insisted the shoe store where he worked hired them. As I drove him home, Tim vilified his manager for sending him to the conference in Kansas City, "That bastard set me up."
The clouds darkened. An emergency radio broadcast interrupted Janis Joplin, "Tornado warnings include Shelby County." Tim insisted it was all part of their plan.
A funnel cloud headed towards us. I stopped the car, and told Tim, "We gotta take cover in that ditch to save ourselves." I didn’t wait for him. There were a couple inches of water that smelled like dead animals. The tornado passed over, sounding like I was under a moving train. Minutes later I got up and found no damage to my car or the surrounding buildings.
Tim was missing.
Love it! Darkly funny and politically perfect. Great details, I particularly enjoyed "There were a couple inches of water that smelled like dead animals."
The conspiracy theorist disappears.. I wonder what the narrator's relationship to Tim is (are they friends, siblings, lovers, etc). Nothing not to love Jeff.
The Same Dad
The Screaminator creeped up the track towards its peak. Joel and his half-sister Sibb gripped their lap bars. They’d discovered each other through a DNA testing site, surprised they had the same dad.
“We had him on Christmas,” Sibb took a deep breath.
“We had him MLK Day through Thanksgiving,” Joel smirked.
“Mom’d kicked him out by New Years,”
Sibb said, “he’d drink and start putting holes in—“
“The hallway walls!” they screamed on the plunging rollercoaster.
After their stomachs settled, they got hotdogs. Joel saw how, like Dad, Sibb’s rosy smile would bend under a heated conversation. Sibb saw how Joel cradled the food in his napkin, flapping his lips over the steam, same as Dad, the way he’d put her to bed before leaving, not skimping on forehead kisses, blowing a year’s worth of steam off, tucking sheets around her before inhaling the memory in one big gulp.
I'm a sucker for a carnival ride story and this one has it all. The Screaminator! Family angst, (or bio-family angst), dark humor and sadness, hotdogs, a newfound sibling connection that feels lasting, and unexpected tenderness of a father they loved but couldn't keep.
Thanks so much Meg!
I love how carnivals, circuses, and theme parks already get images flashing in the reader’s mind, and having something tragic, or even out of the ordinary really sets tension in that environment.
I love that one piece of yours in the Novella In Flash, set in the Renaissance Faire— so good!