A Few Words

The Prompt: He had his daughter's handwriting tattooed on his left forearm.

It said I love Daddy in the messy script of a young child. He'd taken it from a picture she'd drawn him in art class a few years back for father's day. She'd been eight at the time. Her eyes were like blue diamonds and she was missing a front tooth so whenever she smiled there was a gap. She lisped her words ever so slightly in that cute way kids have and she always hugged him when he picked her up from school, even though her friends were reaching the point where they didn't hug their parents in front of each other anymore.

Her favorite place was the playground. That wasn't too different from most kids, but she'd always beg him. Her wide eyes would stare up at him, pleading silently to take her and he'd have to relent. No one could say no to those eyes. He would always be rewarded for relenting when she beamed up at him and threw her arms around his midsection. He could still feel the ghost of those arms when he closed his eyes at night.

Sometimes he dreamed of her. She would be on the swings, pumping her legs back and forth and pushing the swing ever higher. He'd call to her to be careful, but she wouldn't listen and just swing higher. She was unfearing, unrelenting. She'd swing higher and higher into the sky, her shrieking laughter infectious and he couldn't help but smile. Then he'd wake up, the alarm clock muting her laughter all too soon.

He kept pictures in his apartment, though he no longer lived in the house she'd grown up in. She was everywhere. First her as an infant, wrapped in a green blanket. Green's the new pink, his wife had told him. Unisex, perfect for their daughter. It wasn't the blanket he looked at now, though. It was her face. Then her at age two, four, six and her first day of school. She stood proudly with her backpack on the front porch. Six and a half. Seven. Eight. Eight. Eight. She froze at age eight.

The photographs captured moments, her smile, mouth open in mid laugh, but they couldn't capture her. Couldn't bring her back. She was a photograph forever now. Nothing but a photograph and a few words on his arm.

In the Eyes

The Prompt: Despite everything he said he’d be when he was eighteen, when he looked in the mirror, he still saw that scared ten-year-old boy.

It was the eyes, he decided. Those wide, pale blue eyes. They were in a constant state of fear. They glanced alarmingly around, never stopping for too long. Danger could always lurk behind that door, in the shadow over there, behind him. At ten he had learned about danger. His teacher, the door locked tight to protect them. Protect him.

He was supposed to be stronger now. At eighteen he was an adult, legally ready to take on the world. Legally. He wasn’t ready in any other sense. At ten he’d had a plan. He’d be all grown up at eighteen. He’d get in a car and drive. He’d drive anywhere. New York. Florida. California. The very edges of the country. It didn’t matter as long as he was getting far away. But now he was eighteen. He was an adult. And he had no car. He wasn’t driving away. He was crouching, burrowing, hiding in the same place he’d always been.

When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see an adult. He didn’t see a teenager. All he could see were his eyes, the ten year old’s eyes. So many things could change. He was taller, his hair was longer, his clothes different, but the eyes. The eyes never changed. They were the same pale blue, the same fearful expression. The eyes were windows to the soul, they said. The soul must never change either.

Stronger, smarter, faster, braver. It was all a crock, a child’s dream. Naïve. He was naïve. That had changed. So he had finally found it. The eyes staring back at him, those scared pale blue eyes, didn’t belong to the ten year old after all. They were his. Just as broken and scared, but without hope. Only children dreamed and he was no longer a child.

Hanna- 100 Word Scene

Hanna sat at the dinner table with Beth and her father. Three people at a rectangular table was an awkward number, always left an open space that should have been filled. When Graham visited he filled that space.

“How was school?”

The perfunctory question came from her father, too tired from a long day to come up with something a little more original. They were the first words he’d spoken to her since arriving home. Beth had called her to dinner.

“Fine,” she answered, putting as little thought into her answer as he had the question. “It was fine.”

Hanna- Setting

Hanna stood alone in her kitchen. The window above the sink let bright light stream in, illuminating the dishes that had been left there from breakfast. The counters were clear and bare of any food or utensils. The cabinet doors were all shut tight, except for the one with the crooked door that hung off kilter from the rest.

Hanna sank into one of the wooden chairs around the table. It stood straight and sturdy with a stiff back that she couldn’t comfortably lean against. The table was covered in a blue tablecloth and the cereal box from her breakfast hadn’t been put away yet.

No one had been there since she’d left that morning and it was late afternoon. Hanna glanced toward the refrigerator, the only part of the room with any kind of personality. It was covered in magnets, some hers from her childhood and some belonging to her older stepbrother who lived across the country. There were pictures too, but only one of the whole family together. It had been taken at the wedding four years before. Graham had been twenty and he had his hands on twelve year old Hanna’s shoulders. Beth and her father stood on either side of them and all were smiling. A seashell magnet obscured part of Beth’s dress.

Sighing, Hanna stood. She needed to clean out the sink before anyone else came home.

Indirect Characterization- Hanna

Hanna was at the pool with all her friends and she was worried. She hadn’t left a note and her father was getting off of work soon. He didn’t like it when she went out with her friends and didn’t let anyone else know. He was strict in that way and Lacey never seemed to understand that.

Hanna didn’t like making her father upset, especially after a long day at work. It would be best for everyone if she managed to convince Lacey to take her home early, but it seemed no matter how hard she tried Lacey was just too stubborn.

Hanna could be stubborn too when she wanted to be. Having Beks or Ashton to back her up would have helped, but they both spent their days at the pool flirting with any cute guys they could find. She was often on her own when it came to arguing her own side.

After a bit of arguing she convinced Lacey to drive her back home, although Lacey didn’t seem too happy about it. All Hanna wanted was to get home and avoid getting into trouble. She never understood why her friends didn’t get things like that. It made her feel isolated sometimes.

Direct Characterization- Hanna

Hanna bit her lip. “I think I should go,” she said, her voice quiet.

“What? No! We’ve got loads of time.” Lacey leaned back on the towel, dark shades covering much of her face.

“Dad will be home soon and he doesn’t like it when I go without leaving a note.”

“That’s crap. You’re sixteen. Plenty old enough to come down to the pool with us.” Us included Beks and Ashton, both flirting in the pool with a group of senior boys.

“I don’t- I should just go, okay?”

Lacey shrugged. “Suit yourself. Have fun walking.”

“You have a car. It’ll take ten minutes. Won’t you just drive me?”

There was a break in the conversation. Then- “Let’s go see the boys. I bet one or two of them can change your mind.”

“That’s not- Lace, don’t! Just drive me? You don’t even have to get dressed. You’ll be back before they notice you’re gone.”

Lacey looked at the pool, then back at Hanna. She sighed. “Your Dad’s really gonna flip?”

Hanna nodded.

“Fine. But I swear, tomorrow I’m not letting you bail early.” She grabbed her keys and Hanna breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Anything,” Hanna promised.

Underwater

The Prompt: They came out under water.

It was the summer before they turned seventeen, in the pool in Lia’s backyard. Their skins were a deep golden brown from the weeks spent tanning. Together they swam and laughed, acting like the best of friends. And they were.

But in that moment, in the blue water that smelled vaguely of chlorine, they were more. They took hands almost instinctively, staring into each other’s eyes with a feeling neither could define, but both recognized. It was less than love, but more—different—than friendship.

Words between the two didn’t need to be spoken. They just understood. Their eyes open under the surface they could see what the other felt in a clear way they never could on dry land. It filtered out the lies, their facades, and left just them, naked to each other. Their fingers wove together and they drew nearer, intrigued by the new feelings. The lust and desire. They didn’t need to reason, talk things over. They just knew. They just felt. The just were.

Closer and closer their faces came as they drifted under the water. Their hair rose and circled their heads, one brown and one red. They were free, free to experience everything they truly felt away from judgment and fear.

But the chlorine began to burn their eyes. The water felt heavy over their heads as the pressure built. Their chests felt like they were going to burst from lack of air and they pulled apart, disentangling their hands as they did. They both pushed against the bottom and shot up, breaking the surface of the pool as they gasped for breath and gratefully filled their lungs with oxygen.

Once more they were separate, not touching or even looking at each other, but no longer quite the same. The moment was over, but they hadn’t ended. It wasn’t the same as it was before. The one moment, alone under the water, had changed everything. Even as they breathed in deep gulps of oxygen, so distant from the blue depths below, they had changed. They didn’t take hands again, but as they moved around the pool their fingers brushed.

Words were never exchanged, not a one, but they weren’t needed. The girls just understand each other.

They left the pool completely, hair dripping as they returned to their towels and lay out in the bright summer sun. As their hair began to dry the girls turned to each other, their smiles shy and small across their faces. They could see through the other’s walls now, see what they really felt since the moment under the water, but it was muted, no longer blaringly obvious. Softer in a way.

And they reached out with their hands as they lay side by side and wove their fingers together. The innocent gesture was all they needed as they closed their eyes against the bright glare and continued on with their lives, the rest of the world oblivious to the moment that had just passed under the water.

So Sorry

The Prompt: The phone rings and rings and rings in the middle of the night.  It keeps ringing after the machine picks up.  Finally you answer it—groggy, irritated, and befuddled.  It’s the call we all dread and yet know will come more than once in our lives … The narrator’s (closest friend, lover, parent, brother, sister, you decide who to kill…) was in an accident, is at the hospital, and will not last until morning.  He or she dresses furiously, jumps in his or her car, get to the hospital, cursing at the slowness of traffic, and the stupidity of parking attendants, and arrives at the person’s bedside.  What happens next?  

He had been running, speeding, doing everything at top speed to get there as fast as possible, but he slowed the moment he reached the door. He shut it softly behind him before even looking at the bed.

She was there, just as they said she’d be. It took a moment for the recognition to hit. There were so many tubes, IVs, just things sticking out of her that beeped at regular intervals. He wasn’t a doctor, didn’t know the medical equipment, but even he could tell that it looked bad. It looked really bad.

“Jamie, are—” His voice cracked as he hurried to the side of the bed.

Her eyes were closed and she didn’t rouse at the sound of his voice. She just continued to lay there, unmoving. His hands found hers, one of the only parts of her body not marred in some way from the accident. Her face was cut and bruised, everything visible in some way hindered. But her hand was clear.

She seemed so small and fragile in the bed, the machines dwarfed her. He stroked her hand gently, his thumb over the back. “Oh god, Jamie,” he murmured quietly.

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he even should say anything. If she could hear him. In movies didn’t they always say the unconscious patients could hear what was said? He didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Jamie, it’s me. It’s—it’s Ben. I’m here.” He stopped. There was no response. It wasn’t as though he’d been expecting one, but one-sided conversations didn’t often workl. There was always going to be that pause. The pause where a response should have been.

“I’ll be here, okay? For as long as you’re here, I will be too.”

He meant in the hospital, but the second meaning hit him hard. They’d said on the phone she wouldn’t last until morning, but doctors were wrong all the time, weren’t they? Miracles happened. He wasn’t much the praying type, but he knelt his head beside the bed and said a silent prayer in his head. If Jamie could hear what he said, he didn’t want her to know how close she was to the edge.

When he finished he looked back at her, no sign of a change. The steady beeping continued. A tear trickled down his cheek and he wiped it away. He was the strong one, the shoulder to cry on. He had to be strong for her.

“You’re going to get through this,” he whispered fiercely. It wasn’t a lie, he didn’t see it as such. He was going to pull her through this with everything it took. “You’re going to be fine.”

Her eyelids fluttered and his heart jolted with hope, but the steady beeping of the machine evened out into a single long note.

He jerked at the sudden noise. A few nurses hurried into the room and he was pushed out of the way. “What—what’s going on?” He asked desperately.

The question was ignored as he pulled back to the door. “Is she—she’s okay right? She’s got to be okay.”

He didn’t know what the nurses were doing, but they stopped after a minute. One turned to him with pity in her eyes and he shook his head. “She’s gotta be okay. She just—she has to be.”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, shaking her head.

His stomach sank and for a moment he couldn’t think, couldn’t even feel his extremities. His whole body felt numb. “Jamie,” he murmured under his breath. He couldn’t look at the bed. Didn’t want to see her like that. “I’m so sorry.”

Study Break

The Prompt: Eavesdrop on a conversation and write what happens later.

She hastily brushed her thin brown hair out of her eyes as she bent over the book, intent on her studies. There was a test on Wednesday and she couldn’t seem to focus on the vocabulary. The words were beginning to swim together in her head. It didn’t help that whatever idiots lived on the floor above her were blasting some kind of heavy metal, the words dulled by the walls until nothing but the thumping bass remained. It wasn’t so much that she minded the music itself, she just wanted a break from it while she studied. It was apparent that they didn’t have a test any time in the near future, or at least they didn’t care if they did. Meghan didn’t have that luxury. French was one of the hardest classes she’d ever had to take, followed shortly by biology. This was her last semester of French, but biology was going to follow her for the next two years unless she managed to stand up to her father.

“Okay, you definitely need a break,” Jackie said. She pulled out her headphones and moved away from her computer. “I know that sigh.”

“What sigh?” Meghan asked. She hadn’t been aware of making any noise.

Jackie ignored the question. “Your dad called again, didn’t he?”

Meghan shrugged and glanced back down at her notes. “I just have to focus on this French tonight. I can’t afford to, well, you know.” Formulating the word ‘fail’ was sometimes too much for her. She’d done well enough in high school, but college classes were different. Freshman year was the first time she’d ever failed anything in her life. Now she was constantly worried about French and biology. She’d done poorly enough on some tests and labs already. She had to shape up or risk her GPA.

“You’re stressing too much. Don’t psych yourself out. Take an hour and unwind.” Jackie surveyed her roommate with a critical eye. “And get your damn father out of your head.”

“I had my unwinding time earlier when I went to dinner. Now it’s time to focus.” Meghan smoothed the edges of her vocabulary list and read the first line over again. She just needed to get these words down so she could move onto verb tenses and prepare for her bio lab on Thursday. The paper was pulled from out of her grasp and Meghan shot out of her chair, a scowl on her face. “Oy!”

“You are going to relax for exactly one hour before I give this back, capiche?” Jackie held the paper over her head and Meghan rolled her eyes. It was more than a touch dramatic, although Jackie had tendencies towards melodrama. “One hour of your life, it’s not a lot in the long run.”

“Go to hell,” Meghan muttered. She could have easily switched to studying verb tenses or even to her bio lab, but it irked her to leave a task unfinished.

“Just an hour, I swear. Put all this school stuff out of your mind and enjoy a Friday night for once,” Jackie pleaded. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

The offer should have been tempting, but all Meghan wanted was to move on with her studying. There were more important things than an evening of relaxing alone. Classes, for one. “Give it back. Now.” Her tone was harsh, but there was a long moment when she thought Jackie would keep the vocabulary hostage. Instead her roommate shrugged and let go, allowing the paper to fall back to the desk and land askew on the textbook.

“Fine. Be an old stick the mud boring adult.” Jackie jammed her headphones back on and turned up her music so loud Meghan could hear it from across the room. She sighed once more and shook her head. Maybe she was a boring adult, but Jackie could sure act the immature child at times. Yet still she managed grades that were at least as good as Meghan’s. Some people didn’t have to work as hard as others.

She fixed the paper on her desk, laying it straight before she went back to memorizing the words. There would be time for fun later, Meghan promised herself. After the test.

Starting Over

The Prompt: Describe a lake or river as seen by a young man or woman who has just committed a murder. Do not mention the murder.


It was early still. The sun shone high in the sky and reflected across the calm surface of the lake. It beat down on her, warming her skin until beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She slid off her shoes and dangled her feet over the edge of the rough wooden dock, her toes just barely grazing the water. It was murky beneath the dock, impossible to see more than a few inches below the surface, not that she tried very hard. She preferred to ignore the uglier depths that lay just out of sight. Straining to see something that would mar the beauty of the lake seemed pointless to her.

She allowed her gaze to drift across to the opposite shore. The edge of the ground blended into the lake, but she couldn’t see just where the change from water to land occurred. Trees dotted the earth around the rim and plants grew dark and thick into the water itself. That was where they blurred together. She couldn’t discern a difference, couldn’t separate them. They wove together and intermingled until her eyes grew weary of staring and she was forced to blink and look away. That was how people changed too. Slowly, imperceptible to anyone watching, then suddenly they were a different person. Looking back, that one moment where he stopped being himself was lost in a sea of other memories.

A duck glided across the water and sent ripples toward the docks. She toed the water, sending a small splash in its direction, but the duck was too far away to even acknowledge the intrusion. The simple, playful act brought a small smile to her lips. She should have been more affected by everything that had happened, at the very least shouldn’t she feel some remorse? Guilt? She felt nothing except a sick sense of relief. It had been a long time coming. And now she was here, watching the lake as the day slowly passed. The gentle movement of the water kept her calm and relaxed, perhaps for the first time in years. There were others around, families with young children, and yet she felt secure on her perch on the dock. No one looked at her and saw anything other than a woman simply enjoying the view. The past was ancient history now. She could start over as the woman by the lake, let her new identity reflect its own image. The lake would be her fresh start. A new life. Calm and put together like the gentle lapping of the water at the shore, the ripples that danced across the surface. Her murky past hidden underneath. No longer scared, she could draw her strength from the lake.

She drew her feet out of the water and stood, the splintered wood of the dock coarse against her bare feet. In just a few steps she had moved to the cooler grass. Her toes dug into the soft ground and a smile played across her face once again. Things would be okay now. She had taken control for the first time and now she was safe. Things would be okay.

Prompt #17

The Prompt: A Rainbow

The light streaked across the sky as Isa stared out her bedroom window. She recited the colors in order.

Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo. Violet.

A rainbow. A perfect rainbow, arced above all the houses and trees, dipping low to each side outside of Isa’s view. It hadn’t even rained earlier. Those were the best kind, Isa thought. Usually rainbows were an apology for the rainstorms, but occasionally one happened out of the blue like this. Just a random spark of happiness to brighten everyone’s day.

Isa smiled up at it. Nothing seemed quite so bad with a rainbow in the sky.

Sounds came from downstairs. They must have been fighting again.

Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo.

They were always fighting lately. Cam deliberately made their father angry, like she was trying to bring out the worst in him. Isa couldn’t stand the yelling. It was a Sunday. Why couldn’t they just let things rest for one day a week?

Why couldn’t Cam just keep her head down and do what Dad wanted?

Isa always tried her best not to be noticed. It was safer that way. She was younger so he didn’t care as much about her as long as her grades were A’s and she didn’t stir up any trouble. Cam was a different story. She always had all kinds of friends and though her grades were good she rebelled in other ways.

There had been the shoplifting, and the drinking. Lately it’d been pot and college boys. She would come into Isa’s room late at night with the smoky sweet smell clinging to her clothes, ready to regale her with a story about her adventures that night.

Isa mostly tried not to listen.

Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue.

They were screaming again. She didn’t bother to question why Mom wasn’t stopping it. Their mother spent most of her time out on the patio with a cigarette these days. The stress smoking had gotten worse since Cam started high school.

Everything had gotten worse since Cam started high school.

“-won’t have this kind of behavior in my house! It’s disgraceful!” Isa cringed at the tone in her father’s voice. Her door was closed, but he still rang loud and clear.

Cam’s response was no better. “I’ll do what I want! It’s not hurting anyone!”

“That’s not your decision to make!”

Isa tried to tune them out, turned her attention back to the rainbow.

Red. Orange. Yellow. Green.

“You’re too old to act like this anymore! Look at your sister! She hasn’t started acting out and she’s been in high school for a year!”

“Only because you’ve got her locked away terrified in her room!”

Isa shuddered. She hated when the conversation- argument became about her. It seemed like it was the only time Dad ever noticed her. She wasn’t a fan of his attention. It never led to anything good.

“Look around this house, Dad. Isa never leaves her room, Mom’s outside pretending everything’s fine, it’s all on you!”

“I will not be spoken to that way in my own house!”

Red. Orange. Yellow.

Cam’s response was too quiet for Isa to hear, even though she strained. The arguments were bad, but the endings were worse. Sometimes Cam locked herself in her room, sometimes she joined Isa in hers. Lately she’d taken to fighting back with everything she had and the fights never ended.

She rarely got quiet.

Isa couldn’t hear a thing. She considered getting up from her window seat if only to open the door, but decided against. If anyone wanted her they’d come looking. It was safer in her room.

Then suddenly, a door slammed. The front door. Turning her gaze from the sky, Isa saw Cam’s blonde head retreating from the house at a near run. She didn’t look back, she didn’t even pause. Just continued until she was around the corner and out of sight.

Another door slammed, this time coming from inside the house. Her father’s study. She doubted he’d come out until dinner when her mother would plead and cajole him to join them at the table. It would be a tense meal, but usually Cam didn’t get back until they’d all gone to bed.

Red. Orange.

Isa waited up that night for the click of the front door, the soft beep of the security system or her sister’s soft footsteps on the stairs, but they never came. She waited up until suddenly she was opening her eyes to the bright light of morning and there was no hint that Cam had ever entered her bedroom.

She tiptoed down the hall to her sister’s room and peeked in. The bed was unmade, but that was nothing new. Cam was a slob. She wasn’t there and there was no sign she’d come back during the night.

Breakfast was quiet with no Cam to stir up trouble. There were no lectures about breaking curfew or the shameful behaviors Cam was exhibiting. There was no Cam.

Not a word was said the whole meal and Isa retreated back to her bedroom. She took up her usual seat at the window and watched not the sky, but for Cam to return.

Red.

She remained in that seat for hours, staring out at the grass and watching for Cam to come flouncing up the path, but she never did. Afternoon arrived and she was still gone.

The knot in the pit of Isa’s stomach tightened. Cam had always come back before, but there was always a question of how long that would last. She was eighteen. No law said she had to return. No reason for her to ever set foot in the house again. She’d certainly made that point clear several times.

Isa felt sick and the grass swam beneath her eyes. She’d been watching it for too long. She blinked rapidly to get the green haze out of her head and caught a glimpse of the sky. Yesterday’s rainbow was long gone and the sky was a clear blue, not even a cloud in sight.

Just a blank sky, nothing to distract her from Cam’s absence.

Nothing.

Prompt #16

The Prompt: A Sunset

The sunset cast an orange glow over the two figures. The light danced on the woman’s hair giving it a darker tint than its usual blond. She rested her head on the man’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. It was good to know that even with all the atrocities in the world, something this pure and beautiful could still exist.

They stood, watching the sun sink slowly beneath the curvature of the earth until they could no longer fool themselves into believing it was still sunset. Night had fallen and with it a chill that settled over the couple. Stars glittered in the sky surrounding the moon, but they could hardly be called beautiful. Where the sun was soft and warm, the stars were hard and bright like cold metal. There was nothing comforting about them.

The woman sighed again, but this time there was no calm in her soft breath. Her body was tense, prepared for anything. Night was not a time for her to relax. The man was hardly any better, but he slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders, murmuring soothing words into her ear. The day had been so perfect, but perfection never could last.

The woman turned to her companion, suddenly spiteful. “He won’t come.”

“He’ll be here,” the man replied automatically.

“He doesn’t care. He’s proven that time and time again.”

“He’ll be here,” the man said, effectively ending their spoken conversation. It was an argument they’d had a dozen times before. One that she could never win. The woman fell silent, a hard glint in her eyes. On the surface she had given up hope he would come, but there was still a small part of her that wanted so desperately to be wrong. Only on rare occasions did she ever even acknowledge the hope still existed, let alone listen to it.

They waited as the cool breeze turned into an icy gust of wind, forcing the two closer together for warmth. The woman shivered and pulled her cloak tighter. “He won’t come,” she repeated, but the man didn’t respond to or even acknowledge he’d heard her. “We’ve been out here all evening.”

“He said he’d come,” the man said, not even glancing at his companion. He was staring off into the distance, looking at nothing and everything all at once. “He said he’d come and he will.”

The woman fingered the wool in her cloak. “I’m tired of waiting for him.”

The man sighed and dropped his arm from around her shoulders. “I’m sure you can think of something to do with your time. Be creative.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. We’re always waiting for him.”

The man crossed his arms and looked away. It was something he couldn’t argue with. They were always waiting. The woman knew he would never agree with her, accept that he wasn’t going to show, but she couldn’t help adding one last barb. “He’s never going to come.”

Sighing, the man glanced down at her, really looking at her for the first time that night. “Stasia-”

“Don’t call me that anymore. Someone hears that and it gets up the chain and we’re done for.”

The man smiled wryly. “No one’s around to hear anything.” But he didn’t say her name again. They had learned to be always on their guard. They had grown up in the resistance, away from the brainwashing of the government. They had been in the longest and had managed to hide from the death camps set up for people just like themselves.

Stasia sank onto the ground. She hated hearing her real name. It made her remember her childhood, much the same as the life she led now, but it seemed fun as a kid. She learned to excel at hide and seek long before most kids knew what it was. She began learning to fight before she was ten. Back then it had all seemed like a game. Now she knew it was life and death.

“Stasia, Ollander.” A voice came out of nowhere, startling Stasia into a fighting stance. If it was government officials with stun guns she knew that would be useless, but it was a habit ingrained in her since childhood.

A man stood beside a tree, his face shrouded in darkness from the shadows. Stasia would have been hard pressed to make an identification, but Ollander didn’t seem too concerned. “I told her you’d be here,” he said, a smile gracing his face for the first time that night.

The man stepped out of the shadows and Stasia recognized his face instantly. She turned away, not wanting to look at him any longer than she had to. Luc was the third member of their trio and Ollander’s brother, but he had become a spy in the government. Stasia was never sure anymore if he was on their side or informing the government of their every move.

“I have news,” Luc said.

“You always have news,” Stasia replied coldly. “Or have you forgotten your duties?”

Luc glanced at her, but turned back to Ollander. It was clear he’d get more from his brother than his oldest friend. “They’re looking for you two, you’ve got to go underground.”

Stasia snorted. It wasn’t a new idea, the government was always searching for them. Going underground would mean stopping anything they were planning, possibly permanently. It was times like these she wondered about Luc’s loyalties. “Is that all?”

“No, they’re looking for you two specifically. They know your names and faces. Leave the resistance in someone else’s hands for a few months. You’ve got to get out of the city. I can get you out tonight.” Luc sounded sincere, but he was the best liar Stasia knew.

She exchanged a quick look with Ollander. They had lately lost any older members trusted enough to take over, and none of the new members had the contacts to keep everyone together. Finally Ollander spoke. “It would be impossible to hand over the leadership to someone else. We stay.”

Stasia smirked. She knew she shouldn’t be pleased that Ollander was on her side and not Luc’s, but she couldn’t help feeling a small sense of triumph. “Then stop the resistance, these are your lives we’re talking about. You need to go underground or you will die.”

“Then we will die,” Ollander said, shrugging. It wasn’t something any of them wanted to happen, but they had prepared for that day years ago. Anyone a part of the resistance understood that death was inevitable. The fact that they had managed to survive for this long was shocking in and of itself.

Luc slammed his fist against the tree, his anger surprising Stasia. He had always had perfect control over his emotions which made him the ideal spy. The sight of him losing control made Stasia question his motives. He knew they would all die eventually, his anger could be planned, a ruse to separate them from the rest of the resistance. “Damn it, Ollie, you are the resistance, don’t you understand that? If you die, the resistance dies.”

Ollander shook his head. To value one’s life over the life of others was exactly what the resistance was fighting against. No person’s life was more important than someone else’s. “Do you have any useful information for us?” He asked, and Stasia felt a surge of warmth. Ollander was the truest member of the resistance. Everyone else, including herself, had doubts occasionally, but Ollander was a true believer.

Luc ignored his brother’s question and turned to Stasia, who looked pointedly away. “Don’t listen to my pigheaded brother. You understand the long term. The resistance as a whole is more important than your stupid rules. Get out of the city, hide, keep safe. Come back in six months and this will have died down.”

Despite herself, Stasia felt a pull to Luc’s words. It sounded like a good plan, everything would be back to normal in only a few months and they could go back to leading the resistance together. But she shook her head. Ollander was right and that was final. They would stay.

Luc ran agitated fingers through his spiked blond hair. “That’s it then, isn’t it? There’s no going back once you leave here.” Stasia slipped her hand into Ollander’s and looked down at the ground. She wanted to apologize to Luc, offer him something, but there was nothing to say. Luc gave a disgusted sneer. “You two just signed your death warrants.”

It very well might have been true, but it was the price to pay for fighting the government.

When Stasia and Ollander were safely out of hearing, Luc growled softly. He had failed in his mission. The separation of Stasia and Ollander from their pitiful resistance was something only he could accomplish, and he had failed. They were the only powerful ones in the organization, the only ones actually doing any damage. With them out of the way the rest of the resistance would be wiped out and sentenced to the death camps.

But he had failed. He pulled out his communicator to let his superior know that Stasia and Ollander would not be heading to the government house he had set up. Luc had really thought this was the plan that would work. Now Stasia and Ollander were going home safe and it was his life on the line.

Prompt #15

The Prompt: If I could be anywhere other than here…

“If I could be anywhere other than here…” Pete murmured to himself. He didn’t need to finish the thought. He’d done so a hundred times before since he had been captured and imprisoned, imagining all of the places that weren’t nearly so bad as his tiny jail cell. In fact, the more difficult task would be to think of all the places he wouldn’t rather be. Almost instantly an image of a grave slipped into his mind.

He shook his head roughly. That wouldn’t help him keep a clear mind which he so desperately needed. Thoughts like that were better left in the past.

Pete stood up slowly and walked as far as he could away from the wall he was chained to. If he tried he could just barely see into the next cell. The occupant there was new; its previous inhabitant had been executed after giving up everything he knew. Pete hadn’t tried to speak to the newcomer. Friendships never outlasted the executions. Besides, anyone in here could be a spy trying to gain his trust to receive information.

But Pete was desperate for some kind of distraction. The man in the cell had his head in his hands and was facing the wall. His hair wasn’t long enough to suggest that he’d been captured more than a few weeks ago and his dark skin and hair suggested he came from down south. Pete tapped his fist on the metal bars to gain the man’s attention. He jumped in shock at the noise and turned to Pete in fear. Pete was surprised to notice how young he looked. He wasn’t a man at all, but a boy. If he was older than fifteen he would have been surprised. “Hello.” His voice was raspy after weeks of speaking aloud to no one but himself. The boy stared at him wide eyed without a word. “It’s okay to talk. They don’t care what we say in here.”

The boy continued to stare and Pete had almost given up hope of a response when he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “How long have you been in here?”

Pete glanced at the wall, at the dozens of lines that marked his futile attempt to keep track of the days before he finally gave up. “A few months, maybe. Maybe more.”

If it was possible, the boy looked even more terrified. “Months? I thought this was where they-” The slamming of a door echoed through the otherwise quiet prison. The boy didn’t pick up his train of thought again, but Pete knew what he meant. This was where they brought the prisoners to die. Every person in a cell was simply waiting for his own turn.

Pete figured it would be best to draw the boy away from this line of thought. Dwelling on death would only send a person into madness. Their sanity was they had left and Pete wasn’t going to lose that too. “What’s your name?”

“Matthias,” he whispered. “Matty.”

Matty. It was such a young name. Pete didn’t want to think of how young and innocent Matty seemed. It would only hurt more when it came time for his death. Someone so young didn’t belong in a place like this. He should have been off with his parents somewhere, getting an education like they would have in happier times that Pete could hardly remember anymore. A boy as young as Matty wouldn’t know anything more than the war, though. This was what his life had become.

Another door slammed, this time closer to them. Pete pushed away from the bars separating their cells and huddled against the wall as far from the door as possible. A burly guard walked down the aisle, lit by only his own torch. He ran his stick across the bars and those who hadn’t escaped to the back of their cells did so immediately.

“No fraternizin’ with other captives!” He yelled. Pete knew he wasn’t talking to him and Matty specifically, but his body trembled with fear. When all was quiet again he didn’t return to the divider between the cells. He stayed in his corner, alone in the dark.

Prompt #14

The Prompt: “If you were going to be some lame suburban dad why couldn’t you be that for me?”

“What are you talking about?” Paul asked, taking a step closer to his daughter.

Kelly pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want anyone else to touch her, especially not him. “You! You’re just some family guy, raising your two point five kids with your Carol Brady wife and white picket fence! You were supposed to be awesome, have some reason you weren’t around the last fifteen years! Not this.”

Kelly trailed off as she gestured around the house. It was so suburban, so typical of everything she’d seen her friends have growing up. There was the perfect lawn, the nice house, even dinner was the classic suburban dream. He had the perfect family.

“Why not me, Dad? Why not me and Mom? What makes them so special that you settled down?” Kelly’s voice shook and it took everything for her to not break down. He didn’t mean anything to her. He shouldn’t have meant anything to her. She didn’t want to show him that she was weak or that he had the ability to hurt her.

She wanted to be stronger than that.

“That’s not it at all,” he said looking saddened by Kelly’s accusation. “I was so young when you were born, so immature. I didn’t have an idea of who I was. I’ve grown up since them.”

“You never came back! You never contacted me again! Fifteen years went by and I’m only here because I sent you that damn letter!” Kelly’s voice rose and she pulled back even more, turning her back on her estranged father. “You never reached out.”

“I’ve made mistakes…”

“Mistakes,” Kelly scoffed. “I don’t want to hear it.” She’d gone to his house that night with the intention to build a relationship, at the very least hear him grovel and make excuses for the past fifteen years. But now that she had seen what his life was she didn’t want any of that. He had what she’d always wanted.

Only he had it without her.

“What is it that you want from me?” Paul asked. He looked sincerely as though he wanted to please her, but that only mad e Kelly feel worse.

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you anymore,” she spat. Maybe another time, even earlier that day she had, but Kelly was done. She was finished with him. “I’ll go back to being your point five kid that you fathered and abandoned and you can keep being dad of the year for your other two.”

Paul followed as she hurried to her car. Kelly ducked her head and avoided eye contact as she started the engine.

“Please, Kelly-”

“Have a nice life, Dad,” she muttered as she shifted the car into drive and sped off, leaving her father staring after her.

Prompt #13

The Prompt: The chairs are all thrown around, the books and papers are scattered, and the coffee is spilled. Write about what happened before or what happened after.

He stood, panting heavily and staring at the mess he had made. Sweat streamed down his face as realized what he had done. This was his school, his work. It wasn’t his home where anything he did remained personal. Anything he did here would have consequences. If he got fired he would never find another teaching job.

Pete sank to his knees amidst the papers strewn across the floor, his face buried in his hands. Something wet and cold began to sink into the right leg of his pants and it took him a moment to realize it was from his coffee, his coffee that he hadn’t had time to drink this morning because- He shook his head as a bitter taste filled his mouth. He kicked the coffee cup away, aware that it was a childish gesture. No one was around to see, what did it matter if he acted like a child?

“Mr. Elliot?” A voice called softly. Pete glanced up and recognized one of his students, a freshman he’d taught for little over a month. “What-?”

He didn’t know why she had stayed this late after school, but a wave of embarrassment washed over him for his tantrum. The rage vanished as quickly as it had come on. “There was a bit of an accident, but I’ve got it under control now.”

She nodded somewhat hesitantly, but when Pete stood up and made a show of wiping up the spilled coffee, she left. He placed one of the chairs upright and sat in it, surveying the mess his tantrum had caused. It had been horribly immature. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum since he’d been a young child and even then they had been infrequent. Pete didn’t know how his maturity had regressed so far as to throwing tantrums. He shakily picked up the book his freshman classes were reading and closed it, placing it on the desk exactly as it had been ten minutes before.

He did this with the rest of the room, hiding any evidence of his brief but uncontrollable rage. The freshman papers were stained brown from the coffee, but Pete carefully shuffled them together and placed them on the desk in a single neat stack. When he was done, the papers were the only remaining proof that anything out of the ordinary had happened and they were easy enough to explain away.

Characters: Reya and Mitchell

It's not a true prompt, but I wrote two shorts for my friends' characters. Reya is Katia's because Katia is amazing.

Mitchell:

He tossed the baseball in the air and caught it on its way down. He repeated the action again and again until the knocking on the door ceased. He didn’t want to go outside today. He didn’t want to do anything today, except sit in his room and stare at the ceiling.

There were a few minutes of blissful silence until someone else knocked on the door. The person tried the knob and Mitchell smirked. It was locked. Even if she was rude enough to come in unwelcome, she wouldn’t be able to. Something clicked in the door and it swung open. Mitchell sat up in surprise. His sister stood there, scowling at him.

“Mom says to come down for dinner,” she said, her hands on her hips and her face a scowl to match Mitchell’s. It was what they’d both inherited from their father, although they looked different in all other respects.

“I’m not hungry,” Mitchell replied.

“But Mom said.”

“I’m not a teenager anymore,” he said in an annoyed tone. “I don’t have to listen to what Mom says.”

She glared at him, anything playful dropping from her features. “If you’re so grown up, why don’t you do something with your life?”

Reya:

 “Excuse me, miss, you’ve dropped your-”

Reya turned on the man with a scowl on her face. She didn’t like being interrupted by strangers when she went out at night. Just because she was alone didn’t mean she wanted any company. “What?” She snapped.

“Your watch,” he said, averting his eyes. “You’ve dropped your watch.”

Reya’s eyebrows drew together sharply. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, she couldn’t abide by people who avoided eye contact. It was an old habit, one that had come from before she got sick. And now when people didn’t look her in the eyes it was because they were scared. Scared or embarrassed for her, embarrassed to be around her.

“Miss?” He implored, taking another step towards her. “Your watch?”

He held out the item for her to take and Reya took a step back. She didn’t want contact with anyone, much less a stranger she’d met on the street at night. It wouldn’t take longer than a few minutes for him to notice something was wrong. To see her sickness.

Reya turned away, brushing off his polite offer. “I don’t have a watch,” she said, continuing on home to her flat.

Prompt #10

The Prompt: “I never promised that life would be happy. All I promised was that you would never die.”

She stared at him impassively. She no longer cried. All the pain she felt and he had taken away her tears. Taken away her everything. “Death would be a blessing now,” she said, staring just past his shoulder. She never had the courage to speak frankly to his face. Eye contact with those bottomless pits left her too sick and terrified to continue.

He laughed cruelly and reached out with one long finger to run along her cheek. Shila stood still, refusing to flinch away from his touch. “A blessing?” He let out a high pitched laugh and she couldn’t stand it anymore, she had to move away.

Shila took a step back, her arms raised for protection. They would do no good if he chose to hurt her, but it was instinctual. “You tricked me, lied to me.”

“I never lied,” he said almost playfully. Even though she wasn’t looking, Shila knew he was grinning at her. They’d had this conversation before. “Would you like to reread the contract? You’ll find that I’ve broken none of the clauses, and in fact forgiven you the few times you did.”

She ignored this. “I thought you were here to help!” Emotion broke in her voice and that surprised even herself. She’d grown cold in the years since their agreement, since she signed the contract in her own blood.

“I don’t help anyone but myself,” he said. “You know this.”

She knew it now. If there was one thing Shila could do, she’d go back in time. Go back to when she was fifteen and slicing open her arm to sign the contract in blood. She’d tell herself how things would end up, how she was ruining her life with that one signature.

It was a stupid desire though. Even if she managed to find her younger self, nothing would change. She hadn’t listened to anyone when she was fifteen and hurting. A future version of herself wouldn’t have had any more luck than her peers or mentors, the people who at one point considered her a friend.

She was too wrapped up in her own personal drama and hatred of the world to take notice of anyone else’s thoughts or feelings. Which was how he had found her. He had preyed upon her weakness, offered her a way out and a way to hurt people who had hurt her.

But he ended up being the one who had hurt her the most.

Shila’s form grew still as she breathed shallowly. This time she raised her eyes to meet the holes where his eyes should have been. Those oceans of darkness stared back at her unblinking. “I trusted you,” she said, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I trusted you and you betrayed me.”

“Darling,” he said, his voice a slow drawl. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you trusting the devil was a dangerous thing to do?”

Prompt #9

The Prompt: All you ever need to know in life: don’t get caught.

It was this Reya reminded herself as she passed by the baker’s stand in the market place. There were too many guards around, one of them would spot her for sure. She couldn’t risk even grabbing a single loaf or roll. One of them would see.

She passed by, basket tucked under her arm and head ducked low. It wouldn’t do for one of them to see her. Being recognized would lead to being caught. Hardly anyone looked twice at a small ten year old walking the streets, but get too close to a cart and they’d notice for sure. Being branded a thief would get her arrested.

Don’t get caught.

Reya dumped the rocks out of her basket when she returned to her family’s small home. Her mother was out as she often was, even at this early hour of the morning and Reya turned to her two younger siblings who were huddled in the corner.

Asa, still only four, was in her bedclothes from the night before. Claro who was two years older had managed to dress himself, but the shirt was too large. Hanging down past his knees it looked more like a dress than anything else.

Reya sighed as she looked at the two of them. They were all small for their ages, underfed and used to looking after themselves. “Didya get somethin’ fer us?” Claro asked, eyeing the basket hungrily.

Reya drew the basket close to her body. She didn’t want them to see how empty it was. She hadn’t been able to bring back anything, not even some bread or rotten vegetables. The guards at the market had tripled and the last week’s pickings had been lean.

“I-” She began before laying eyes on Asa. Asa’s fist was in her mouth, hungrily sucking on it with wide eyes. Reya’s voice caught in her throat. She couldn’t let her baby sister go hungry. Not when she looked like that. “I’ll be back,” she promised, stumbling backwards out the door. She had to find something, no matter the cost.

Don’t get caught.

It was the mantra she’d been taught years ago when she was hardly Asa’s age. Jian taught her everything she knew. He’d been four years older, the same difference in age as she and Claro. He’d been the one to show her how to steal and put food on the table for her family.

He would have advised her not to return to the market.

Don’t get caught.

“Jian isn’t here,” she muttered to herself as she hurried down the dusty road. He’d disappeared one day, went out and never came back home. Everyone assumed he ran away to the capital to look for a better life and Reya promised herself never to forgive him. He should have been there, helping her feed Claro and Asa.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t there and she had to do this. With every instinct screaming to stop what she was doing, Reya entered the marketplace again. This time she twitched, feeling as though every guard and vendor would know her face after having been there only an hour before.

No one said a word, but Reya felt watched. She pushed the feeling away and continued down the road to the lesser watched carts. There had to be something easy within reach, some roots or a loaf of bread. Anything.

Don’t get caught.

Finally she reached the baker’s cart. His back was turned, dealing with a customer who had coins to pay with. It almost seemed too easy. Before she could stop herself, Reya reached out and grabbed a small loaf situated in the shadows. It wasn’t very large, the type of thing she’d have bought if she had the money to buy things.

She slid the loaf under the cloth of her basket and turned to dart away, running into something hard and solid in front of her.

The guard gripped her arm tightly before she could dart off and Reya flinched in fear. She’d never had a run in with a guard before. Once a shopkeeper had seen her run off with some of his food, but never a guard.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming. It would only draw more attention to what was happening and she didn’t need everyone to see her taken in.

“Filthy little thief, think you wouldn’t get caught?” Reya struggled against him, but it was no use. The guard was easily three times her size.

“Let me go!” Her only hope was that he would take pity on her- or more likely feel too lazy to turn her in to the magistrate.

“You oughta get a hand lopped off for that one, mongrel,” he said, his voice low and cruel. None of the passerby’s took notice of the two of them in the road. Thieves were arrested all the time, it did them no good to intervene. “Mayhap you’ll get a kind magistrate who’ll give you your druthers,” the guard continued, causing a shiver to go down Reya’s spine. “Which hand do you need more? The right or the left?”

Startled, Reya glanced up and met the guard’s eyes. She stared in shock at his face. It was Jian. A slightly aged Jian, but it was Jian nonetheless. Jian’s blue eyes and fair hair, Jian’s crooked tooth, Jian’s-

But the guard was too old to be Jian. He was at least in his early twenties, Jian was only four years older than her. And he wouldn’t ever be a guard. Ever.

Don’t get caught.

When Reya blinked, the guard’s face was different. He still had blue eyes and fair hair, but his cheekbones were different. His tooth wasn’t crooked. In fact, he bore little resemblance to Jian at all. Jian always had a smile on his face, ready to charm anyone, though he was always serious when it came to stealing.

Don’t get caught.

It had been her mantra. It was the one promise Jian made her keep. Whatever you do, don’t get caught. She’d let him down. Let everyone down. Claro and Asa were expecting her back home, they needed her back home. If anything happened to them it would be her fault.

Don’t get caught.

Prompt #8

The Prompt: Siren’s Song

The sailor stood at the railing, his feet braced against the swaying of the ship and hands spread far apart as he listened to the wind.

It almost seemed to be calling him. He had abandoned his post on the crow’s nest to get closer to the sea, for some reason he felt drawn to it. The briny saltwater sprayed his face and the droplets cooled him, settling on the heated leathery skin of his face.

But it still wasn’t enough. The surface of the ocean lay many feet below. No matter how far he strained, he was always too far away to feel the full effect of the ocean’s power. Entranced, the sailor leaned over the rail, eyes closed, letting his other senses take control for the time being.

The salty smell wafted through his nose and the song grew louder in his mind. It wasn’t real music, but rather a call. A summoning.

His fingers reached for the water, feeling the spray of the wave dampen his fingers. A sudden thought struck him. It would take nothing more than simply pulling himself over the railing and he could immerse himself in the waves.

He could become one with the ocean.

The sailor had half a mind to do that when a sharp call interrupted him. “Oi! You there! What’re you doin’ away from yer post?”

In an instant, his senses came back and he pulled away from the railing. The song in his mind muted until he could focus fully on the other man’s words. “I er- heard somethin’ on deck.”

“You don’ leave yer post for nothing, hear me boy?” The older man asked roughly. “’Specially at night in these parts. You’d do best to climb back up to yer nest and stay there.”

“Yessir,” the sailor said. Then he paused. Something about the words sounded strange. “These parts?”

“There’re tales of men doin’ strange things ‘round here.” The man scowled at the boy then continued back into his cabin. “Watch your step, boy.”

As the man disappeared back into the depths of the ship, the sailor was left once again alone with the ocean and his own thoughts. Heeding the man’s warning, he walked away from the edge and began the long climb up to the crow’s nest.

The song, silenced by the confrontation with another human, remained quiet in his mind. Though he was once again on his own, the only sounds he heard were the gentle slapping of the waves against the hull of the ship.

The yearning to be a part of the ocean was gone. He was alone in his mind.

Prompt #7

The Prompt: “Hold still, I’m trying to kill you.”

Effie sighed as she leaned against the frame of the bed, craning her neck so Paul could wrap his hands around it. He kept them around the base, closer to her shoulders than her actual neck, but it still gave Effie the shivers. It felt strange to subject herself to this multiple times every afternoon.

“This is supposed to be a passionate scene, you two!” A voice interrupted them and a tall thin balding man stalked down the aisle of the auditorium. “Passion! Anger! Fighting for your life! You- Desdemona, you’ve just been accused of something you’d never do and now you’re being killed for it. Why do you look so bored?”

Effie rolled her eyes and Paul disentangled his hands from her hair. “Sorry,” she muttered, easily jumping off the bed.

“And you, Othello! You’ve been betrayed! Show us that pain! We want to feel your pain!” He sounded so excited that Effie just wanted to walk off the stage in frustration. She liked acting, being on the stage in front of so many people, but they’d been hearing the same things from Davies for months in rehearsal.

“It’s hard to act all impassioned when she’s so resistant to me getting close to her,” Paul whined.

Effie scowled at him. He didn’t have to throw her under the bus because he was a crap actor. “You try being strangled sometime,” she snapped, eyes blazing. “It’s rather difficult to look like you’re fighting for your life and keep your neck at just the right angle so you can grab me.”

“Well you knew this scene was in the play when you auditioned,” Paul shot back. “Don’t take the part if you can’t do the work.”

Effie huffed at him. He didn’t have to pretend to be strangled to death a dozen times every evening. “Well maybe I should just quit now, would that make you happy?” She asked scathingly. She was tired of having to deal with this every single night after school. She loved acting, but this was something more akin to torture.

“You can’t quit,” Davies protested, looking scandalized. “We open next weekend!”

“Well I don’t want to be strangled anymore,” Effie said, wiping her eyes and sniffling. A few tears slipped down her cheeks as she stalked out of the auditorium.

She heard Davies on the stage as she left, frantically calling for her understudy in the wings. Effie knew the freshman didn’t have her lines memorized, let alone the blocking. She’d get a phone call later that night begging her to come back. It wasn’t going to happen, though. She was done with the theater. It was all too much to handle.

As the double doors slammed shut behind her in a dramatic exit, Effie drowned out all sound from the stage. It was as though that part of her life had closed with those doors. Two girls walking down the hallway giggled at her and Effie refused to make eye contact. They could probably tell she’d already quit. Her fall from the school’s social ladder was beginning.

She didn’t wipe the tears from her face and instead hurried toward her car in the parking lot. Her hair whipped behind her rather dramatically and the tears only added to her image. Effie knew she looked good, but she didn’t think twice about it.

Her older brother Patrick was waiting by the car, smoking a cigarette. Effie scrunched her nose up at the smell. “That’s a disgusting habit,” she said. He was always smoking.

Patrick snorted. “Want one?”

Effie almost shook her head out of habit, but then thought about it. She’d quit acting, didn’t have to worry about the smoke damaging her vocal cords anymore. There was no real reason to say no. “Sure.”

Patrick turned the car on and offered her both cigarette and lighter. “So you quit again?”

“I quit for good!”

“Sure you did,” he replied. “Right up until they call you tonight and request that you return. Then you’ll change your mind again and burst into tears and I’ll have to pick you up from rehearsal tomorrow.” Patrick raised an eyebrow at her. “Acting’s what you do, Ef. It’s in your blood. You’re just a little drama queen.”

“Shut it,” she snapped turning away from him to scowl out the window. “I’m done.”

“Fine,” Patrick said as he laughed a bit. “Put down the window so I don’t have to hear to freak out about smoke inhalation and your vocal cords later.”

Effie considered arguing because she really was done with theater this time, but decided not to. Putting up a fight was simply too much work after the awful night she’d had. She rolled down the window and Patrick let out a loud guffaw. Effie huffed and determinedly stared out the window. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of arguing.

But she really was finished this time.