Writer’s Write Prompt: Love Letter

Again here’s a thing for the Writer’s Write prompt thingy, but I’m sort of connecting it to the story I’m working on. Haven’t decided yet if I’m going to have it in the book or not, so that’s why it’s here and not tucking someplace in my files.

Write a farewell note to the love of your life without using the word love.

Time means so little here, which makes it hard for me to say if we’ve spent weeks, months, or years together. Either way, you have come to mean something to me. But, I also know I don’t mean quite as much to you; fae cannot feel like humans. You also care more for Taika than the real me, so I suppose this works out in the end. I’m leaving, and, if all goes how I hope, I’m leaving her, too. You can at least keep someone who knows more what it’s like when it comes to fae tendencies, who won’t foolishly hope for something that cannot be had.

I want to say more, but I don’t know how to express it and if you wake up before I go, I might not leave. Enjoy your immortal life, hopefully you find whatever you’re looking for. I know I did.


Another Writing Prompt because Writing

This one was actually in a picture, so I’ll just describe it: a gravestone with ‘In Memory of the GIRL IN BLUE Killed By Train DECEMBER 24, 1933 “UNKNOWN BUT NOT FORGOTTEN” ‘ written on it. So..here we go…




It was winter, cold and snowy with an eerie beauty. The girl looked up to the sky, white flakes falling down onto her curly black hair, the lashes framing her brown eyes. She wore a tattered blue peacoat over a simple black dress. She didn’t have much money, and even less now that she had left home. But she had needed to get away from her old home, where she ahd to deal with abuse both verbal and physical.

She was only thirteen, but she hoped to find her estranged aunt and uncle. She hadn’t seen them since she was very little, when her parents were still kind and loving. The girl lightly touched her fingertips under her left eye, which was slightly swollen due the black eye she had gained. It was in this moment she was a bit glad for her mixed skin tone which made it slightly more difficult to tell there was a bruise. But that was also why her mother tended to beating her and calling her names, blaming her because of her father. She tried, but she couldn’t any more. She needed to be free.

All these thoughts swirled in her head as she clutched a little piece of paper and stared at the apartment in front of her. Room 103. Third floor. Maybe there was a wreath on the door. Candles in the window. All the things welcoming Christmas. Maybe she could spend Christmas happily once more. It had been so long since…

A smile broke out on her face and she went inside, started upstairs. But…she never made it to the door that called out freedom to her… No, she heard a voice that had her running back down the stairs. Her mother had gotten here first. She was crying, saying she didn’t know why her daughter would run off. Her aunt and uncle didn’t know that she was abusive to her. The girl had planned to explain…but… Another train then. She would go to her father’s mother. Her legs carried her as fast as they could to the train station. But when she got there, it was quiet, empty.

They all have off for Christmas… she realized. How could she go elsewhere if there was no train running? How could she get anywhere when she very much needed to? She was trapped. Again. No. No, she wasn’t. She would just…wait. She would wait until it was open again. It was cold and dark by now, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

So into the station she went, curling up on a bench and closing her eyes.

“There you are,” a relieved and angry voice breathed out. Her eyes snapped open, her mother’s pale face coming into focus. The girl bit back a scream and leaped off the bench, running before her wrist was caught.

“Let me go!,” she shouted, wriggling and pulling on her arm, but her mother was stronger than her frail body would have one believe. She knew the look in her eyes, the one that said she would hurt her again. But she wouldn’t hear her words, she didn’t want that anymore. So the teen bit into her mother’s hand, causing her to scream and let go. The girl turned ad took off again, but only made it a few steps before dropping onto the train tracks, not realizing how close she had been. She grimaced, having landed so that her ankle twisted beneath her, but pushed herself up and started down the tracks.

No trains were coming, she could do this.

But she heard her mother’s shouts. She knew she was running alongside the track after her. The girl only had to get to where the tracks went along the ground and weren’t surrounded by concrete, then she could hurry elsewhere. But…someone else was on the tracks. A boy. A boy with blonde hair. He was frozen in one spot, eyes wide. The girl looked behind her, her own eyes suddenly widening.

There were no trains scheduled for then.

Only her mother and she were there.

But she was dead on the tracks, hit by a train.

People see her, reaching out for help on Christmas Eve.

Taking her hand can only mean a train will come. Even if none are scheduled.

Writing Prompt from Writer’s Write

Thanks to Facebook, only this time something that makes me happy. I found a page called ‘Writer’s Write’ and I’m going to make use of the daily prompt. At least today. So, today it happens to be: Use these words in a paragraph: melted ice cream, November, skeletons, whisky.

So, here goes my shot. Let’s hope for the best shall we?

Laying in the summer time grass, all I can think of is November. My longing for the cool air of the month fills my mind, almost to the point where I can feel the chill on my skin. But then I realize that I do feel cool something on my skin and my eyes fly open, seeing a pink smudge on my short-clad legs. Melted strawberry ice cream, and my sister standing over me, licking what she could from the dripping cone. “Really?,” I sigh, sitting up and taking the offered napkin to wipe it off my leg with a frown. Instead of berating her farther, my eyes lifted to see a group of people in black, hooded robes coming our way, swaying as if they had drunken too much of something. Perhaps whiskey? Whiskey was often the drink of choice around here. My sister clearly saw them too, but we were both too entranced by their odd dress for the weather to really register that perhaps we should move away. And then they were standing in front of us. Slowly, slowly they removed their hoods, the sun shining down and reflecting off what seemed to be bald heads. Only upon complete reveal were my sister and I able to know what was standing in front of us; living, moving skeletons.

If anyone who reads this wants to take the prompt and make their own with it, feel free. Probably will post some more of these myself if any pique my interest. Hope you enjoyed it this time.