Day 9: Animals
They told to write about any animal I wanted. So obviously, I chose...sharks.
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Photo by Andreas Wagner on Unsplash
Day 8: Dreamcatcher
Write something inspired by a recent dream you had.
A couple nights ago, I had a dream I was on a double decker bus. One of those big red ones that always get smashed apart in a Jason Statham or The Rock movies. I was with a rowdy group of Philadelphia Eagles fans, who were celebrating their recent win over Trump's favorite team.
Every so often, we'd make a quick stop to pick up more booze, supplies or just random people. One of those people was a strange man, kept to himself, super quiet. He sat next to me and just watched everyone partying the whole time.
I tried to talk to him a couple times but he was definitely a listener not a talker. He was weirdly comforting. Like talking to a stuffed animal when you're scared at night. So I just talked to him about everything that was going on in my life.
Meanwhile in the background, someone gave birth on the upper deck apparently and they decided to name the kid Eagle.
I went upstairs to offer my congratulations, took a disgusting shot and went back down to sit with my strange new friend. But he was gone.
I asked some people around me where he went and they didn't know.
"People come and people go," some drunk dude told me. Thanks, drunk dude.
I was mildly, concerned and wanted to go looking for him but then I woke up. So now I'm thinking where did he go? Here's what I think happened:
The Stranger watched the short, loud woman go upstairs. He smiled. The bus came to a stop at a red light. He stood up, opened the doors, ignoring the "Hey!" from the bus driver, and walked out into the night.
He had something to find and he wasn't going to find it surrounded by Philadelphians. His instincts told him to walk forward through the crowd of people. He felt someone crying, someone that needed help.
He came upon a woman sitting on the front steps of her townhouse, tears in her eyes, watching the cheering, destructive crowd on the street in front of her. He approached her, cocked his head and gestured towards the spot next to her.
She stared for a minute, then nodded. He sat there, she cried for awhile, then went quiet. After a few minutes, she began to pour her heart out.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Photo by Bryan Goff on Unsplash
Day 7: The Rocket Ship
Write about a rocket ship on its way to the moon or a distant galaxy far, far, away.
Continuation of The Vessel
Man, space was boring. I mean, don't get me wrong. The first couple of weeks was so cool. The ship was equipped to survive hundreds of years in space and it's super super fast. So we got through our galaxy and into the next within days versus years.
But unless you're an astrononerd, the gases and celestial bodies and multitudes of suns get boring after awhile. We don't even get to visit any of these planets. Well, "The Scribe" doesn't get to anyway. I just get to hear the explorers tell their stories while I type it all down. And let me tell you, none of them are natural storytellers.
So I took to watching the other people on the ship. Let's just say, it doesn't matter where you go in the universe, people are infinitely more bizarre and interesting.
Take Kyla in room 12. She's apparently sleeping with Barb in room 4, who is married to JJ. I don't know how many people know they're involved in an affair but I stumbled upon it a couple days ago when I was hiding in an undisclosed location from ANNA!
Anna's really taken to trying to "show me the ropes." And I'd rather hang her with them.
Anyway.
There's Mark and Marvin, a set of insanely creepy twin engineers who spend most of their time below decks "fixing stuff" but I suspect they're actually watching us women on the cameras. They know entirely too much about Maritza's dietary habits.
One of the explorers, Bobby, has intense paranoia. After we left our galaxy, we sent explorers down to SSX-223 (Essex in my head), a world filled with ice mountains and not much else. At some point while they were down there, Bobby got it into his head that they were being stalked by an invisible presence.
Yep. You read that correctly.
His paranoia has gotten so intense that the commander made him sit out the last exploration. Now he just wanders the dimly-lit hallways trying to get the rest of us to talk to him about whatever's allegedly following us.
I'll admit...sometimes when I'm sleeping, I wake up abruptly and I get this odd feeling that someone just left the room. And it's a tiny room, so not much place for an invisible creep to hide.
Or maybe it's just one of the twins?
Who the hell knows? All I know is, I'm BORED. There's only so many ways to describe deep, black space.
Maybe I should butter Anna or the commander up so they'll let me get down to one of the planets. Ya girl has high hopes.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Photo by Sachit Rathi on Unsplash
Day 6: Eye Contact
Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.
The first thing he noticed was her hair. It was a bundle of dark curls outlining her face like the perfect picture frame. The second thing he noticed was her eyes, a golden brown with flecks of green. She had her headphones on, a large red pair of Beats by Dre and a massive book in her hand. He tried to figure out what she was reading but it was missing the jacket cover. She uncrossed and crossed her legs a couple times, seemingly to get more comfortable. There's nowhere to get comfortable on a subway. He felt bad all of a sudden. Stop staring, he thought to himself.
She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Yep, this dude was still staring at her. What an oddball. She hoped and prayed he wouldn't attempt to talk to her. She hated when guys tried talking to her when she was out in the wild, without a drink in her hand. Especially when she had her headphones on. Nothing else in the world says "DO NOT APPROACH" more than giant headphones attached to your head. She moved around a little. She hated taking the subway, she wasn't used to it quite yet. Her commutes back home were bike trips or walks everywhere. Oh, good. He's not staring anymore.
His stop was coming up soon. He really wanted to say something to her. He'd never seen anyone look quite that beautiful before. He didn't want to be a creep, however. God, this was so hard. How do people approach other people anymore? Have dating apps trained them all to only reach out when you're certain it's a match? Yikes. He was ranting in his own head again. Shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts, he looked at her again. This time she looked back.
Shit. Shit. SHIT. She made eye contact. Now he was going to try and talk to her, wasn't he? He smiled a little. His eyes were strange, one green and one gray. She realized she was staring back, glared at him and blocked her face with her book.
Mortified. He was mortified. She did not reciprocate his weak ass smile. Got to get the fuck off this thing now. He looked around and saw that a stop was coming up, just a couple blocks from his and decided to get off. He stood up and she did too.
You have go to be fucking kidding me, she thought to herself. Of course, this was his stop too. The doors opened up and a rush of people trying to get off or come in shoved her right into him. He caught her and grimaced.
"Sorry," he said. "Here, let's push together." They eventually got off the train and stood there awkwardly, looking at each other.
"Thanks," she said to him with a smile. He nodded.
Come on, say something else. She started backing away when he shouted, "Number?"
Dude, that was smooth. She smiled, shook her head and walked away. Well, at least he tried.
Well at least he didn't try to murder me, she thought, scurrying away.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Day 5: Food
What’s for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe.
There's 8 of us. It's already too fucking much. But whatever. I have my bottomless mimosas, I'm good.
Blonde #1 starts complaining about orange juice. She wants pineapple juice.
My best friend and I slowly look at each other and smirk.
Blonde #2 takes a cute selfie next to the window. (Well as cute a selfie as you can take on a fucking iPhone 5s) Natural light and all. She knows her shit.
The waitress bounces up. "You guys ready to order?"
I lightly bang a fist on the table. "Yes, I want the chilaquiles with salsa verde and chicken. Eggs scrambled. Side of bacon. No toast." There better be enough cheese but I also didn't want to be one of those annoying customers that micromanages every part of their dining experience.
Bestie giggles. "French toast sticks please but with the syrup on the side."
Blonde #3 pipes up. "Can I have the breakfast burger without the bun?"
Everyone at the table groans loudly and laughs. She's sticking to her guns though. She's not consuming carbs, y'all. Apparently, gluten is the devil.
Everyone else places their order, while another server brings us our third bottle of champagne AND a carafe of pineapple juice instead of OJ.
"Oh my God, thank you so much! Orange juice is just...too..thick? Am I wrong?" Blonde #1 chirps, looking around the table.
"What the fuck does that even mean?" My best friend's best friend, who is not me, asks, annoyed.
There's a reason we don't usually invite Bestie's bestie. She's perpetually irritated and aggressive and terrifies all of the Blondes.
I shift in my seat and ignore the ensuing argument. God. The food smells amazing. I hope it comes out soon.
In the meantime, I needed to consume multiple mimosas because these drunk asses are only going to get louder and louder.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash
Day 4: Dancing
Who’s dancing and why are they tapping those toes?
Tap tap tap
Coiled red snakes on each black velvet loafer
Brand spanking new, not a scuff in sight
Size 11 and ready for scars
Tap tap tap
Hot rod red, 6 inches tall, caged feet for fashion
Moving quickly through the crowd
A quick two-step and a dip
Tap tap tap
Cheap, glittery green flats come into view, nervously waiting
On the fridges of the dance floor alone and quiet
Oops stepped right into a spilled drink
Tap tap tap
Tall, brown boots ready for a fight as they stomp through
Laces nearly undone and frayed, leather cracked
These boots were made for...
Tap tap tap
Something blue twirls and shakes, bedazzled with toes peeping
The hem of her white wedding gown obscures
WHOOSH, the satin blue heels go flying
Tap tap tap
Vomit on leather Oxfords as they rush to the exit
Too much fun ruined the alligator finish
All the other shoes skittered away
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Day 3: The Vessel
Write about a ship or other vehicle that can take you somewhere different from where you are now.
This ship was made of DWARF! STAR! ALLOY! (I think?) And it's taking me to the unknown promised land of unexplored galaxies.
You heard me. Ya girl's going into outer space. Even though it scares the living shit out of me.
Space scares you?, you might be thinking, in a rather smug tone.
Um, yes. It's a vast nothingness filled with specks of...somethingness. It's terrifying. We all are scared of the unknown to some degree, no?
But no matter! I'm going. This ship looks sturdy enough to carry me, my luggage and my ego. I'm ready to explore the Great Beyond.
After I've loaded my entire life onto this ship, I noticed that everyone else around me in the main hull looked like actual adults with real jobs.
Not that I'm not an adult with a real job. Writers are people too, Janet!
Anyway, these people looked like scientists and engineers and doctors and I'm basing this purely on the fact that they're wearing glasses and unflattering, tan-colored clothes. I don't judge.
I walk up to the nearest beige person and tap them on the shoulder. She smiles brightly at me.
"Hi!"
"Uh, hey? What's going on? What's your name?" I ask, taken aback by her enthusiasm.
"My name's Anna and I'm one of the pilots. Aren't you the scribe?" She answers, tilting her head slightly.
I cough a little to cover up my chuckle. "Um, yes. I am the...scribe. They assigned me to document each day of this trip. The first of its kind! Super exciting stuff..." I trailed off, mildly. I have a slight tendency to ramble. I'm working on it.
Anna nodded, still smiling like her life depended on it. "Well, why don't I show you around? Give you a little tour of the ship?" I nodded and she called out to several of the other taupe people. "I'm going to take the scribe for a little tour, if you guys want to join!"
I frowned a little. "Oh! You can just call me Vanessa."
She blinked at me and then turned around and walked off. The others started following her, chatting in some form of English that could only be described as Nerd.
"Ohhhhh kay." I quickly caught up to them as she was showing off the kitchen and dining areas.
They were ooh-ing and ahh-ing over some state-of-the-art metallic thing. I tried to get into it but honestly this kind of stuff bores me. So I wandered off down the hall on my own tour.
This ship was so massive there were actually ELEVATORS to go up to the next level. Look at me exploring! I found the dorms. I hope my roommate isn't weird, but judging by the dorks downstairs, I doubt I'd luck out in that department.
I stepped into one of the rooms. Everything was in shades of gray and white with wide windows that overlooked the large patch of desert where we were currently docked. I tried to imagine the view once we actually got up there.
I shivered. That big, black nothingness scared me. But we should do something that scares every now and then right? That's what all those self-help books say. I looked around the cold, gray room and then back to the window.
I can do this. I'm the scribe, dammit. My job is important. I have to document everything. Even if it terrifies me.
But I'll be damned if they make me wear khakis.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash
Day 2: The Unrequited Love Poem
How do you feel when you love someone who doesn't love you back?
It was like something or someone was pushing down on her chest, slowly increasing the pressure until she couldn't breathe.
Every time she passed by him, avoiding his eyes, it felt like that.
At the office happy hour, she could hear him laugh loudly from the across the bar. She got up quickly and ran into the bathroom, holding her stomach.
She'd only had a couple of martinis. She didn't want to be hungover tomorrow. No, the clawing in her stomach wasn't from the booze. It was from him.
It's been 5 weeks, 4 days, 13 hours since he told her he didn't feel the same way about her.
"When are you going to get over it?" Her friends ask occasionally, in what they thought was a gentle tone. "It's not like you guys dated that long. It was like a month! How much could happen in a month?"
She couldn't explain it. What kind of idiot falls head over heels after the first date? In the middle of the third date, she knew she wanted to marry him. Stupid, stupid girl. At the end of the 4th date, he told he thought they worked better as friends or co-workers.
She agreed under duress. But could he tell? Who knows?
Breathe.
She gathered herself as best she could. Walking in a straight line, she grabbed her purse, said a quick goodbye to her co-workers, ignoring their pity faces and stepped out into the night.
Breathe.
Her foot tapped, impatiently as she waited for her Uber ride. Did he notice her mild panic attack? Oh God, what if he was laughing at her? Or worse, what if he was feeling sorry for her? The nausea hit her hard again, just as Georgie was pulling up next to her.
Breathe.
Georgie was quiet the entire ride, which was just what she needed. Kneading her brow roughly with both hands, she forced herself focus on something else, anything else. No one was worth this kind of physical or emotional agony.
"This you?" He asked, slight concern written on his face. He was probably worried she'd vomit all over his pristine car.
"Yep," she said, quickly hopping out of the vehicle. "Thanks!"
"Would love a 5-" He started before she cut him off.
"Sure! 5 stars, got it!" She fumbled with her keys, got into her small apartment, slammed the door shut behind her. She collapsed in the hallway, too distraught to make it to her bedroom.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
She couldn't.
A wail pierced through their walls. He rolled his eyes over to his girlfriend.
"I think our neighbor's crying again," he said, mildly amused.
She made a mock sad face. "Poor girl. Maybe her grandma died." She turned up The Voice loud enough to drown out the sobs.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Day 1: Outside the Window
What’s the weather outside your window doing right now? If that’s not inspiring, what’s the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?
A group of women walk past, loudly chatting about how it's "almost Friday!" Snow crunches underneath their assorted Frye boots.
"God, I am so sick of this damn snow," she whines, wiping her dripping nose.
Her boyfriend chuckled and pulled her closer. "It'll be spring soon enough."
The little white man walk signal came on and they made their way across the street, along with the other commuters.
"Why can't we just-" She stops herself, not wanting to finish the sentence. He rolls his eyes slightly at her but otherwise doesn't acknowledge her incomplete thought.
They get to the car and get in, just as flurries start to fall from the sky.
Awesome, she thought, more fucking snow. They headed home in silence, both deep in thought. Or at least she was. He was probably thinking about what wings he wanted to order to watch the game tonight.
All she wanted was sunshine.
“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”