Just a Message

While browsing my facebook a few weeks ago, I came across a post by an author I follow, Ashley Howland. It had origiginally been posted by eadeverell, a 30 day flash fiction wiriting challenge. I do think it is important to keep the writing juices flowing, so I am going to start the writing challenge. I don't know that I have the brain power right now to do 30 days of writing, so Iam going to do the challenge slowly, as the writing bug strikes me. If you feel like joining in, here are the prompts.

It was just a bracelet. A shiny glittering bauble that I thought was fantastic so I bought it. An impulse buy from a downtown shop. How was a supposed to know that it was also an interstellar transport device.

One minute I'm putting the finishing touches on my fantastic club outfit by fastening my new bracelet on my wrist, the next I am sitting in the middle of a strange room, surrounded by short purple creatures. Oddly human-like, but not. They have the same structure: torso, arms, legs, head. That's where the comparison ends though. I don't have much time to observe the creatures though, they are all pointing at my bracelet, speaking some foreign language and surreptitiously glancing at me. I can't help but be a little alarmed. This is not what I planned for my evening. While logically I know I should be more worried, I'm not. All those paranormal and alien books I've devoured all my life have been doing something positive. I take another look around the room. It's sparsely furnished with mostly dark colored furnishings. Strangely similar to what we have back at home.

"Any chance I can go back home?" I ask the closest alien. He (she?) asks me. Its hard to distinguish the male from the females of these creatures. The creature just stares at me and I wonder if it even understands me when suddenly get an answer IN MY MY HEAD!

"We will return you when we give you our instructions."

"Um. Okay." I stammer back. "Not sure what kind of instructions you are talking about."

"Instructions on how you can save your planet," the voice practically screams into my head.

All I can do is stand there. Save our planet? What the actual heck does that mean? How can I possibly be expected to handle this? The good thing is that the purple things don't seem that dangerous. I tower over them in my heels and though they outnumber me, I could easily outrun them if I kicked the shoes off.

"We need you to deliver a message to your leaders. Your world is coming to an end. If you don't change  your way of thinking, your way of living, your planet is going to die in 6 years. Our people have done all we can to save it, but we can  help no longer."

I'm still staring, until I realize the voice stopped. My thoughts are racing. Six years until what, until they blow up the planet?

"No." the voice is softer now, "until you destroy yourselves." comes the soft reply.

"How can we stop it?"

"Clean your waters. Recycle. Do all the things that you have been taught all your lives. Small actions by each person on your planet will add up to bigger ripples and then waves and eventually a tidal wave of change. We will help you as long as you all work with us. If you don't, we will leave you to destroy this planet alone."

I nod in agreement. Thinking of all the times I have committed sins against our planet. All the recyclables I have tossed in the trash because it was inconvenient to recycle it. Too many plastic straws used because it was inconvenient to carry the stainless one. Now our planet was facing a death sentence because of my actions.

"Okay, I can pass on the message, but I'm just one person, how can I spread it to the rest of the world?" I ask quietly, the worry in my voice.

"You may be one person, but we have determined your voice will change the world, you just have to use it."

"but how" I begin but I'm already back in my room, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Use my voice. I'm sure they didn't mean that literally because I am no public speaker. I am really good at social media though.... I sit down at my desk and pull out my laptop, I begin to type

It was just a bracelet. How was a supposed to know that it was also an interstellar transport device....

Dragon

Envision a dragon. Do you battle him? Or is the dragon friendly? Use descriptive language.

It was a day like any other, I was enjoying my walk home from school in the bright sunshine. I'm not usually too distracted, but somehow today was different. My eyes kept wandering into the bush and trees along the road. It wasn't too dense, but I couldn't see through it to the other side. There seemed to be some kind of mist shrouding the middle of the wooded park. 

A flash of red caught my eye. What on earth was that? Following the red, I headed into the woods, my walk home forgotten. As I got further into the woods, the patch of red was slowly turning into what looked like a wall. But it wasn't a wall, it was a giant lizard. No. Not a lizard, a freaking dragon. How was there a dragon laying in the middle of the city park?

I looked around quickly, wondering if I was being tricked. This had to be some kind of prank. I walked slowly toward the creature, expecting my friends to jump out and scare me. As I draw closer. my surprise grows. This is a living, breathing, freaking dragon! 

From a safe distance and behind a tree, I observe the beast. The total height from the ground to the top of its back must be at least 20 feet tall. Its length from head to tail had to be at least twice that.

Covering the entire beast are scales of a beautiful burnt red color. Each scale is as big as my palm but as it gets closer to the face and feet, they get smaller and darker, almost turning black. It's almost like a trick to force your eyes to it's most dangerous features. 

There are four legs on this amazing creature. The rear legs are bigger, stronger. I know those are for pushing off the ground into the sky. Impressive as they are, the front legs strike a little fear in me. They are smaller but white claws poke out of the end of each digit, I am sure they would prove deadly, given the opportunity.

There are two huge wings. They look thin but strong, their color a bolder red then the scales. They are quite massive, bigger then any of the movies portray them. 

"Are you going to come out from behind that tree, or just stare all day?" A voice questioned. 

My head swivels around, looking for the source of the noise. It couldn't possibly have been-

Suddenly, the immense beast moves. It is quickly closing in on my location, it's long neck stretching toward my hiding spot. Before I can even react, the colossal head is right in front of me. Two round eyes look at me unblinking.

"What are your intentions?" 

The friggin dragon is talking to me! Before I can even stammer a response, he questions again: 

"friend or foe?" 

"Friend." I manage to return. Who could possibly even admit to being foe to this beast? 

The Rocket-ship

Write about a rocket-ship on it’s way to the moon or a distant galaxy far, far, away.

I have never seen anything like this. The size is massive, like a cruise ship that flies. Aside from the take-off and landings we get free reign of the ship unless there is turbulence. That's only happened once since we left earth. It's been six months. We are expected to travel another six before we reach our destination. They created an artificial gravity that works as long as we are flying smoothly. 

Let me give you a tour of the ship. It's quite brilliant! You walk into the ship, and into a hallway. To your right is the cockpit. The two pilots who fly the ship are up there. On the left is the seating area. It's big enough for the entire crew and us passengers. All the seats are equipped with a five point harness to keep us safe. For airplane seats, they are quite comfortable

Our quarters are next. The quarters include a bedroom and bathroom. Each bedroom has a bed and dresser. All the rooms have been prepared for us to lose the gravity though. The drawers lock and the mattresses are strapped down. Also, all the furniture is all bolted to the floor, even the lamps! 

Each quarters has its own bathroom. I don't even want to know how they made the toilets work, I didn't even ask. I just know I can do my business and then it goes away. It is sanitary and can be kept clean easily. The showers (and all the other water, not used for drinking) are on a recycled water system. The water is all pushed through a purifying system and then reused in the ship. 

After the bedrooms is the mess hall. Lots of tables and chairs, also bolted to the floor. The tables are all covered with some kind of magnetic surface. All the dishes and silverware magnetic so if there is a loss of gravity they will all stay on the tables. Genius! 

The kitchen is much of the same. Everything bolted down or attached to a surface. There is no way the kitchen stuff will become dangerous projectiles on this ship. 

At the tail of the ship is the rec area. We have TV's with all kinds of pre-loaded shows and movies for us to watch. There is also music to listen to and we can get streaming news from the satellites so we are in touch with earth. We don't have real books because they are too hard to secure, but we do have e-readers with access to any title in the world. Along with the entertainment, we also have some exercise equipment as well as comfortable places to relax.

This ship was built for us to travel and find a new place to call home. For now, this is our home and I think the designers and builders did a pretty amazing job. 

Eye Contact

Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.

Have you ever had a person you just had an instant connection with? Emily was that person for me. 

I met Emily years ago, but not really. You see, we were fifth grade pen pals. Now it is senior year and my parents arranged for me to fly to Charlotte to meet her. I cannot wait to see her in person. I've seen pictures and heard her stories, but real life meetings are just another story.

Plans had been made for her to meet me at the airport, at baggage claim. The second the wheels of the jet touched down, the butterflies in my stomach started. The butterflies only got stronger as I started walking to baggage claim. As soon as I saw that chestnut mane, I knew it was her. 

"Emily," I called out. 

She turned around. 

As she flung her arms around me, I knew our letters weren't a lie, we really did share a friendship chemistry. Not that you could help it around Emily. Her effervescent personality was contagious. We were both talking over each other. The southern drawl in her voice made me want to listen to her talk, but her constant questions forced me to answer. 

"We can't spend our whole trip in the airport," Emily drawled. "Lets get moving."

Just like that, we were off to enjoy an amazing week together. It all started with a fifth grade project. Seven years later and I am pretty sure I have a forever friend. 

Food

What’s for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe. This poem is what I imagine meeting one of my online friends would be like. 

Anxiously waiting

The room full of people 

My eyes are trained on the door

We've not met "in real life"

but it still feels like meeting an old friend

because it is

we have known each other for years

just through a screen

instead of in person

Through the years we've shared so much

Our struggles, our victories, our pain

She helped ease my loneliness when my husband left

And again when my mom died. 

She may not have physically dried my tears

but it was definitely done by proxy. 

Friends are friends

no matter their form

sometimes they come in the unlikeliest of places

sometimes they are right in front of your face, 

awaiting you just to look up. 

In she walks, just as I anticipated, 

she sees me right away, wraps me in a hug

We share a coffee and a long conversation. 

Friends are friends and friends we will remain.

Dancing

Who’s dancing and why are they tapping those toes? 

The below is a work of fiction, part of my writing challenge.

The music wafted out the windows and doors, all flung open to ease some of the oppressive heat of the August summer. Giggling and dancing of the children could be heard between the notes floating from the grand piano. Who knew the old thing could still play, let alone the acoustic magic that was happening tonight. It was supposed to be a memorial service, but this was definitely a celebration of life. Nana had always wanted her life to be celebrated, rather then her death mourned. We certainly tried to do that, but never could have imagined the festival we had going now. Sure, there had been tears, but the moment Papa got his fingers on those piano keys, we knew the celebration had begun. He played all the old tunes that he and Nana loved. Taught all the children the dances they shared. During this moment, we could all remember the times the infectious music of her laughter had flooded over us. The times our tears of sorrow brought out her songs. Music was what Nana loved and this is how her life was celebrated. I will never forget that day as long as I live. Hopefully one day, my family will celebrate me in the same way. 

The Vessel

Write about a ship or other vehicle that can take you somewhere different from where you are now

There sat the ship. It was massive, bigger then anything I have seen before. The sails are bright white, the color reflecting the bright sunshine. The wood of the immense vessel has been worn smooth by the waves it navigates. I cannot imagine being on such a craft, let alone having it take me from this place. That is why it is docked here, for me. A monumental move for me, leaving this place I have known for all of my life, going to the unknown. What better way to voyage there then on this amazing vessel. There are many things I must learn, if I am to help the other sailors. No doubt I will be expected to earn my passage. Not only am I willing, I am eager to learn all I can about this craft. Words can't describe how anxious I am to be on the sea, only the sky and water to see, my new life before me. This wretched place far behind.

Writers Workshop

Writing boot camp, week 10: Dollar Message - You’re at your favorite department store buying a birthday present for a friend. As the cashier gives you change, you notice a message with specific instructions scribbled on one of the bills. What do the instructions say? Do you carry them out and, if so, how?

It had been a last minute thought, a spur of the moment idea, she had told me not to get her anything, that her amazing party would be gift enough, but I couldn't see myself arriving without a gift in hand. Call it old fashioned, but that's just what my momma taught me. Besides I found the most adorable wine glass that she was just going to love. 

As the cashier hands me back my change I can't help but notice that there is something scrawled on one of my dollars. I slip it out from the rest and take a closer look as the cashier is wrapping the glass. Scrawled in a beautiful loopy handwriting are just three words: pay it forward. It's a phrase I have heard tossed around a lot lately and I don't really think much about it as I shove the bill into my purse and quickly start out of the store. 

But it's like the bill is calling to me from the depths of my beautiful handbag so while I am stopped at the light I pull it out and look at it again. Nothing else on it, just those three words: pay it forward. I wonder what the person was thinking when they wrote it on there. What were their reasons for the message? Did they want the world to be bettered one person at a time? Had someone paid it forward for them? Before I can even ponder what the answer might be, the light turns green. 

I pull through the intersection, one thing I did know, I needed coffee if I were going to make it through this party tonight. So, I head for Starbucks and pull into the line. The moment I make my drink choice I know how I am going to pay it forward. I pull up to the window and hand the cashier a twenty, before she can put it in the register I tell her to add the order for the person behind me to my check. She glances up at me and asks if I am sure. I nod my head in agreement. 

"Is there something you want me to tell her?" She asks as she hands me my drink.

"Just tell her to pay it forward." I answer as I pull away. 

Writers Workshop

Day 9 - Obit for Your Favorite Character - Write an obituary for your favorite fictional character (literary, television, etc.), including how the death occurred.
Mickey Mouse, 84, of Anaheim, California died quietly in his sleep on October 21, 2013. He is survived by his wife Minnie of 83 years, dog Pluto, sister Amelia, sisters in law Madeline and Mandie, nephews Mortie and Ferdie Fieldmouse, nieces Millie, Melody, Zizi, Pammy, Tammy, Lily and Tiny and close friends Goofy and Donald Duck. He also has countless fans around the globe.
Mr. Mouse was born on November 18, 1928 to Mr. and Mrs. Walt Disney in Anaheim, California. He started out in show business early on starring in multiple black and white movies between 1929 and 1935. In 1953 he debuted in his first color film. Mr. Mouse underwent a makeover in 1939 and by 1950 he was starring in his first feature length film, Fantasia. In total, Mr. Mouse has been in 31 short films, nine full length films, and five television shows.
Viewings will be available in his Orlando, Florida castle on October 26, 27, and 28th from 9 am until 4 pm and also in his Anaheim, California castle on October 29, 30 and 31st from 9 am until 4 pm. A celebration of life will take place at Mickey’s castle in Anaheim, California on Sunday, November 1 at 3:30 pm. An interment will follow for family only.
Plans for a permanent memorial are being made for both his California and Florida homes. The family is requesting that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Ronald McDonald House Charities.

And another unrelated pic:

Another part of our weekend fun

Writers Workshop

This is my favorite part of fall. Clear skies and beautiful
colors!

Full Disclosure - They toured the house with the real estate agent.
“We love it,” he said. “Is there anything we should know about the house’s past?” The agent looked down.

I almost can't watch her.... she keeps looking at the floor and it's killing me! I love this house. Nothing that she says is going to change that.

"The previous owner died in this house," the agent started "it was expected, but she battled cancer for years, but she finally died in this house."

I could tell by hearing her talk that she must have known the previous owner. Before I could realize what I was doing I had reached out to her, to offer her some form of comfort.

"How did you know her?" I ask quietly.

"She was my sister."

What could I possibly say to that. I couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it would be to deal with a loss like that. And then to be the one selling her home, that would tear me apart.

"Why are you selling now?" My husband asked. It was obvious the woman was fighting tears, but he had to ask. We had already been through a situation where the owners had decided not to sell. It was a really disappointment for us, since we had already fallen in love with that house. I couldn't deal with that again. This house was just perfect and such a great deal for it.

"Courtney was an amazing person. She remodeled this house while battling. Her death happened just after she finished. I feel like this is what she would have wanted it to go to someone who appreciated the work that she put into it." The answer was surprising to me. I could tell by the work that it had been done recently, but you could tell they put care in making sure it still maintained it's charm. The 1920s house could have been pulled from the pages of a book. It was absolutely perfect.

"We would love to raise our family in this house," I told her quickly. My husband glanced over at me. I could tell he was hesitant to buy a home where someone had died. "Could you give us just one minute?" I asked the agent.

"Absolutely." She answered as she stepped out the door.

"Mark, I know what you are thinking," I started "but even if there is such a thing as ghosts, I am sure this one isn't going to hurt us! You heard what the agent said. She died peacefully at the completion of her project, this house. We are never going to find one like it," I was practically begging him but I didn't care. This house was worth it.

"Angela you always get your way don't you?" He teased me. The man never could tell me no! "So, lets go get the agent and make an offer."

So we did.

365/285: Writers Workshop

Day 7 - Back From the Future - A knock at the door catches you off guard. Upon answering it, you’re greeted by a man who says he’s from the future—and he can prove it. More important, he says he has information that will save your life. I am just going to change this a bit, I am going to say it's a woman from the future =)

The knock at the door startles me out of my daydream, and I quickly answer it. I am surprised by the girl standing on my stoop.

"My name is Lisabeth and I am from the future," as I stare at the woman, she keeps right on talking "I know this sounds crazy, but I can prove it and I have information for you, information that will save your life!"

"Really?" I ask skeptically; who wouldn't need to have proof that a knocking stranger was from the future and not just some random crazy person. Even thinking in my head that there was a possibility made me feel like a crazy person! 

"Yeah," she started "I know that you have loved to write your whole life and that you have nightly written in a journal since you were sixteen. I know that the journal you are writing in now is cream colored with pink pages. I know that the only person you have ever let see those journals is your husband and that he got you a new one for Christmas last year that you have in your dresser for when the current one is filled."

It only takes me a few minutes to think about it. Sure everyone knows I love writing, but only Justin knows about the journal he just got me for Christmas.  "Okay, I guess I can at least hear you out..." I answer, opening the door to let her in. I lead her to the living room, figuring that if the information was that important, I better be sitting down. "What do you have to tell me?" I asked, not bothering beating around the bush. 

"You need to go to the doctor tomorrow." She states bluntly

"Why?"

"Well, if you don't go to the doctor, he won't find the lump and you won't get the early treatment you need. If you don't go to the doctor, very soon, the tumor that is growing in your breast will kill you." 

I am too stunned to say anything, so I sit there stupidly staring. Finally I muster up the voice to ask, "why do you even care?" 

"well," she starts "I care because if you don't get treatment now, I will have to live without you. If you die, it will be because you were pregnant by the time they found your tumor and you refused treatment so I could live." 

Still completely stunned, I just stare. I look at her eyes and it's unmistakeable, she is most definitely a relative, why would she lie about being my daughter?

Her voice interrupted my thoughts, "I don't have much more time, but I had to come out and tell you." 

"I'm glad you did."

"Well, I have to go, hope to see you someday." 

She stands and we embrace quickly before she walks out, closing the door behind her. I don't hesitate even a minute before I pick up the phone and dial my doctor's office. No chance am I waiting to get checked out. I won't risk anything happening to me raising my own daughter. 

My big girl reading.

Just a note, October is breast cancer awareness month. Early detection saves lives. Don't wait for a sign from the future like the woman in this story, make sure you are doing monthly self exams and get your yearly mammograms when you turn 40.

365/271: Writers Bootcamp Week #5

This is week 5 of my writers workshop series. I am using writing boot-camp to get myself back in to writing. I use their prompts and write on them weekly. We will see where it goes from here, but it sure gets the creative juices flowing. Today's prompt: You're downtown, and see graffiti in an unlikely place--graffiti like you've never seen before, concerning someone you know.

While jogging my usual route I noticed bright pink paint on a giant, old oak tree. You don’t often see graffiti on trees! As I stepped up to get a closer look, I couldn’t help but be impressed with the level of detail the artist was able to capture with ink (or was it paint?) on the rough tree bark. It was a peace symbol woven in a Celtic knot. Only once in my life had I seen that image. That had been 15 years ago, on the leg of my very best friend. It was a tattoo that she got the day we graduated from high school.

I’m not sure how long I was standing there, just staring at the image. People were walking by me, giving a wide berth as if they were afraid of me. Though, if I were one of them, I would probably do the same thing. The tag was small, no bigger than a dinner plate, and it was drawn right onto the bark of the tree. In all my life I had seen nothing like it. It was strange being so connected to this artwork. Who on earth could have put it there. I hadn’t seen my best friend in nearly a year; ever since her and her family had moved east for a new job opportunity. It was hard enough to spend time together when she lived here, now that she was 3 hours away it was next to impossible. Curiosity caught the best of me, and I pulled out my cell phone. The smiling picture I had assigned to her contact made me smile again.

“Hello,” she answered

“Hey Jess, it’s me,”

At first she sounded hesitant, like she was expecting me to drop bad news on her. I assured her that nothing had happened, but that I had a strange question.

“Go for it, as long as it isn’t bad, I’m willing to answer” she joked.

“It’s really crazy Jess, but I was jogging and found some graffiti,” I started.

As usual, she interrupted me, “what’s new about that? You do live in the city after all!”

“if you will let me finish,” I retorted “the tag was on that huge oak on main. And you will never guess what they painted!”

“Well, if I’m never going to guess, then tell me.”

“It was a picture of your tattoo!” I couldn’t help but raise my voice a bit, I couldn’t’ wait for this mystery to be solved, “and in the ten years since I sat next to you in that tattoo shop, I have NEVER seen it anywhere besides your leg.”

“That’s impossible,” she replied, “unless my tattoo artist has suddenly become a tagger! But why now; why tag something with my tattoo ten years later?”

We were both stumped. As I hung up the phone, I stared at the tree. This entire situation made no sense. Being the curious person I am, I jogged around the park slowly, looking at all the trees for signs of any other tags but ended back where I started, with the same questions I had left with. Deciding the worst that could happen is that I am labeled as crazy; I head over to the tattoo parlor. Thankfully it hadn’t moved, and I could never forget that artists’ face (or his tattoos!) I spotted his familiar face from the window out front, so I stepped into the parlor. Deciding that the best route was to come right out with it, I quickly blurted out “did you by chance tag the oak tree down on Main Street?”

He stood there staring at me. All the things that could possibly go wrong in this situation were running through my head. But he just stared at me. I barely heard him when he answered: “How did you know it was me.”

It was not the answer I was anticipating, and deep down secretly hoping for.

“I’m Jess’ best friend,” I started, “We were here together when she got that tattoo. It was so unique; I knew there was no way someone just happened to draw it. Do you mind me asking why you tagged that tree?”

“Well, that’s a long story,” he answered. “Do you have some time?”

“For this I do” I answered.

“Well, ten years ago, I was just starting out my career here. I was a rookie and not usually given the opportunity to go freestyle, like your friend let me do. That tattoo took me longer than any other to dream up. Once it was on her skin, it was like it was meant to be there. Up until I saw you last month that was the end of it. But last week, you ran right past this window. Somehow out of the hundreds of people who pass by, you jumped out at me and I remembered you. You haven’t changed in ten years at all! So, for the last couple weeks I have been thinking of ways I could get your attention. That tattoo was so distinct that I knew if I could just put it somewhere you would see, that you would make it back to me. And here you are.”

Standing there, I was completely shocked. To have this man, not only remember me, but want my attention so badly, it was flattering. I took a deep breath and asked him, “so when do you want to take me out?”

He smiled and asked, “what about Friday.”

“Perfect!” I answered. “How about we meet at the tree?”

365/264: Writers Bootcamp Week 4

First things first, race day is TOMORROW! The starting gun goes off at 8:39 am and I am READY! =)  I will be running and sparkling (if you can't read it, the shirt it says "Super Mom Runs this Town")

Onto the writers workshop! Day 4 - Sent to the Wrong Printer -- You’re at work and you print something personal (and sensitive). Unfortunately, you’ve sent it to the wrong printer and, by the time you realize it, somebody else has already scooped it up.

I stand by the printer waiting, but nothing is printing. I step back up to my desk, double check which printer I sent my document to and my heart sinks: it had gone to the printer in the copy room. The one place I would least like to see this go. It isn’t like I could claim it wasn’t mine! Everything in this building prints with your name plastered on it. Oh man, I really didn’t want to explain why I was printing this!!

Keeping my fingers crossed I quickly walk down to the copy room. One quick glance at the printer and I know the worst has happened. Not only was the offending document not on the printer, but the office busy-body was holding the stack in her hand. Why does it always seem like the people who gossip the most are in a place where they could get the most fodder for the fire? The only thing I can think to do is strike up a conversation with her. As we chat I watch her efficiently putting the printed stuff into the employee’s boxes. It’s apparent as soon as she sees my print job. She looks up at me. I can see the surprise in her eyes.

“Is this yours?” she asks. Even though the answer is obvious, I just nod. What else could I say? What could I possibly do to explain it? She stretches over and hands it to me, winked then said “our little secret,” then turned back to her work. I walk away slowly. As usual my mind is whirring. Could she honestly be trusted to keep a secret this huge? Guess I would just have to wait and see, trusting people never was my strong suit.

365/258: Writers Bootcamp Week 3

This is week three of my ongoing writing boot-camp. If you want to see the whole list of prompts check it out. And if you play, be sure to let me know so I can read yours! In the spirit of getting the creative juices flowing, this is my "creative" pic of the week:

Not sure there is anything better then a box of new, sharp crayons. The only thing that comes close is those that have been newly sharpened. =) Now onto the prompt:

One Day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously placed on your desk. Grateful to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you eat it. The next morning you come in and find another cookie. This continues for months until one Day a different object is left—and this time there’s a note.

I walked into work today, expecting to find a cookie on my desk, just as I had found for months; but instead of a cookie a found a book. The book appeared to be well worn and had a note on it.
"Dear Stacey," the letter read, "for months I have been baking you cookies and leaving them on your desk. It started out as a random act of kindness. I saw that you were having a hard time. Your internal struggle seemed to be pouring out on our staff and even the customers. I thought that if I just reminded you that someone cared, that your attitude might improve. What started as a random act of kindness quickly changed into a social experiment. It was no longer me just trying to cheer you up; it was me seeing if there was a limit on the number of days my gift would impact the attitude of you, the recipient. When it became clear that there was no limit on its impact, I choose instead to give you another gift: hopefully one that keeps giving. As you read Random Acts of Kindness I hope that you think about the kindness that has been given to you, and pray that you might pass that along to someone else. I truly believe that the more people are performing these random acts, the better our world can be."

I was floored. I had never even thought about it just being random. That whoever had left the cookies was just being kind. I had thought for sure I had an admirer, which I guess I didn't. Surprisingly, I wasn't too disappointed about it. But you know what surprised me: the fact that this person still hadn't revealed themselves. There was no signature on the note, and no telling handwriting. It was simply a typed message, attached firmly to the cover of the book with a paperclip. Would I ever know who my stranger was? Would I ever be able to repay his or her kindness? I decided at that moment I would try and repay this person by sharing random acts of kindness as often as I could. Not just in my workplace, but in as many places as I could think of. This gift, both the random cookies and the book, would keep on giving.

365/251: Writers Bootcamp Week 2

This is week two of my writers boot-camp. It is supposed to be a daily thing, but with all that is going on around this blog, I thought I would make it weekly to give me a break but also you, my reader. So, if you are already sick of these after just one week, you are welcome to just stop here. But, if you are interested, go ahead and check out Writers Boot-camp, and read my story below. One more favor: If you choose to play along, let me know. That way I can read your stories too!!

Week 2 - The One That Got Away - You bump into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day—the one whom you often call “The One That Got Away.” What happens?


"Oh my gosh I am so sorry," I mumble as I back away from the man I had just run into. It's at that point I look up at him. If it were possible, my eyes would have fallen out of their sockets. It was Bryant, my former flame; the one who got away. "I can't believe it's you." I stammer.

He looks down, as if suddenly noticing who I am. "Jessie?" He questions.

"Yeah," I am still reeling from this unexpected encounter. It's been years since I've seen him (excluding my dreams, but that doesn't count!)

"What's new with you?" He asks.

"Well, I am married now," I say gesturing to my ring finger. "Six months now."

"Wow." He exclaims. "Guess I missed my chance..."

I stand there dumbstruck. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We had been together for years; most of my young adult life, when he had suddenly dumped me. No explanation, no warning. He was just gone. 
"I guess you did," I reply. I can't even get the words to form. I want to scream at him, where have you been the last two years?! Then I want to hit him, make him hurt for what he put me through. Instead I simply say, "I guess I should thank you."

He just stares. I don't think this was the reaction he expected. I continued before I lost my nerve. "You broke my heart, but I would have never found Curt if you hadn't. So, thank you for letting me go so I could find the one He planned for me."

He's still staring. I know then that I have to leave, before he starts to talk, before he has the chance to explain why. This is how it has to be. He may have been "the one who got away" but if he hadn't been, I would have never found The One.

"Goodbye Bryant and good luck." I tell him as I turn and walk away.

And a random picture, this is the crazy cloud weather we had the other day