How many of you out there can control your own dreams? I never realized this was something not everyone could do. All my life I’d been controlling my dreams, using them to explore new avenues that would later end up in one of my stories.
Well hello there! This post is going to be quite a change in pace from what I normally post on my blog. But here goes nothing. Most likely if you’re following this blog, you’ve read one or many of my short stories. I want to start off by thanking you guys for reading my work and sticking around to read more! Through all the ups and downs in my life, writing has been my rock, the one thing I always return to that helps me get through the rough patches. So it makes me so happy that people actually enjoy my writing and want to see more of it!
The wooden door swung open. A gust of wind tangling her curly hair around her head but she stumbled forward anyway, sliding to a halt before taking a nose dive off the clock tower.
Eevie shivered. Stepping through a dimensional portal always made her skin crawl. Wet goop caressed her skin, sticking to her molecules and rearranging them to send her to her desired destination.
Conversation. Or lack thereof How long do you intend to avoid the inevitable?
Dragging a boxcutter across the package tape, the sound acted as a brief distraction to their never ending rumors. I clipped my boxcutter back to my belt and unpacked yet another box on my own. You see, we’d worked out an agreement. Work was divided between two separate groups. Me versus them. And guess who had more boxes unpacked, clothes sensored and hung up. That’s right, me.
“What did you just do?” He was gasping for air, slouched over while clutching his chest in agony. His skin was as pale as refrigerated milk and when I reached out to him, my fingertips sent another shockwave through him causing him to stumble into the mantle beside the couch.
Watching clothes tumble in the spin cycle of a washing machine in a dingy barely lit laundromat really does something to a person. My thumb rubs across the top of a lighter but no flame comes of it. I flick my not even lit cigarette into a pile of mushroom encrusted clothes stationed below flickering lights. I don’t even know why I do it, I’m not even a smoker. I suppose it was for a dramatic entrance but no one’s even here to see it. As I step over moss covered laundry baskets, I can’t help but wonder how my simple life of being an elementary teacher has lead to this.
Difficult question as always. Whenever I read these prompts, for some reason I automatically assume it will be a piece of cake. Then when I sit down to actually write the prompt, I’m stumped. For me, actual blogging is harder than creating a random story. There’s something about opening up and admitting these are my thoughts and feelings that make it hard to complete blogging prompts. But anyway, I’m determined to complete this one, so here I go:
Gabbie tiptoed barefoot onto the cold wooden pedestal, leaning against the saleswoman for support while her good for nothing sidekick sank further into the couch cushions, legs crossed in a feminine manner, sipping on Gabbie’s Frappuccino from earlier. Struggling to keep her balance, she tossed her arms out wildly almost knocking the woman in the face as the fluffy white fabric from the dress threatened to twist around her legs like a python.