Prompt #3

In your post, write about an argument. Due Sunday September 1.

Prompt #2 -- The Sum of All Things

Reluctantly, he handed over the key.  He’d considered refusing but he knew they would kill him and take it anyway.

He’d made a promise to his creator when he accepted the job that he’d take the key with him into the next life.  He’d keep it hidden from his boss at all costs and maybe save someone.  He believed in karma and knew that he’d pay for what he’d done in the next existence.  He had wanted to believe that when his last breath escaped him, he would disappear into nothingness.  But he’d seen things that made it impossible for him to deny that there was a powerful fate that kept score.  Good things happened to some people, and others, like him, just couldn’t catch a break.

He’d worried that in his next life he’d come back as the child of one of the men he preyed upon.  The men who were so desperate to find a way to be good that they turned to him, believing that fate just had to hand them something good.  Men who drank themselves mean and hated the world for their inability to resist their addictions.  Men who, when sober, felt so remorseful about all that they had done, that they were too weak to even look at their children to see what they had done.  Instead, the men turned to him, with their last dollars, and the silent wish that they would get lucky.  They’d win this time, they believed, and give their children something besides bruises and broken bones.  They wordlessly prayed that their winnings would be enough to make their children forgive them.  But that didn’t happen; fate forbade it, he knew.  Even if the men won once, they’d lust for more, and bet again, with renewed faith that now their luck had turned.  But they’d lose again, and turn to drink to dull the knowledge that they couldn’t be the men they wanted to be or the fathers they needed to be.

The key unlocked his safe securing all his records.  Records of the debts he’d collected, unofficial records of men who had left this world with violence, some had taken their children with them into death.  Records of outstanding debts too.  He wanted to keep the key hidden, even now, so that his boss wouldn’t have those records.  With his death, he’d free the men he couldn’t help in life.  Maybe some of the children would escape.  Maybe fate had something better planned for them.

But, as he was kneeling on the bridge, the gun was pressed to his head, he accepted that fate wouldn’t give him this one thing – he couldn’t die a hero.  

Prompt 2 Response

Reluctantly, he handed over the key. “You realize this is a one way trip.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice sounded more resigned than upset, and it’s probably because we’d had this discussion numerous times over the past six months.

“Yes, Ted, I know. I knew it last week, I knew it last month, I knew it last year when I applied for the program.” I ran my hand through my hair, shoving it out of my eyes, where it had fallen. It always seemed to fall into my eyes when I was frustrated, and right now, I was really frustrated.

When I first applied for this opportunity, Ted had been supportive. Of course, he had applied with me. I’m not sure if he expected that we’d both be accepted, or whether he hoped we’d both be rejected. But neither situation had come to pass. Instead, I had made it. He hadn’t.

I couldn’t believe it when the envelope arrived with my acceptance. It was even more unbelievable than the news, two years prior, that the European Space Agency had discovered a wormhole hidden inside the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. Long theorized, these strange phenomena were thought to link far distant parts of the universe, allowing interstellar travel without the long commute times.

Immediately, NASA had re-purposed a probe that was due to explore Neptune and sent it into the wormhole. The world waited for seven anxious months. The probe returned images of an earth-like planet, and all the readings indicated it could support human life. NASA and the ESA partnered up to send an unmanned rover to explore the new world. But private industry wasn’t waiting around.

Eccentric billionaire Wayne Nevins, founder of the first successful space tourism company, put out a call for volunteers to explore and settle this new-found world. Unlike his commercial space-flights, this trip would be covered by the company, but those who went would have to commit to staying. Despite this condition, hundreds of thousands of people volunteered, Ted and I among them.

I never really expected to be selected. I assumed that they’d want biologists and engineers, botanists and chemists, cartographers and archeologists. I could understand taking photographers, journalists, and even farmers. I’m still not sure why they wanted a poet. But that’s how Nevins made his billions. By seeing things other people didn’t and taking chances that others thought foolish. That was certainly Ted’s view when I got my acceptance and he didn’t.

I can still remember the fight we had that night. It was a fight that had extended for the following five months. Finally, about a month ago, the fight had gone out of him. I think he realized that I wasn’t changing my mind. He tried to make the best of things for our last month together, but his heart wasn’t in it. I had felt him drawing away from me. I would have fought harder, but I realized that it was probably for the best for both of us, if I could leave with a clean break.

So here I was, key in hand, ready to walk out the door. Ready to walk off the planet. I’d been a professional writer for my entire adult life, but I couldn’t think of any words to say. Goodbye seemed both too little and all too final.

So I left without saying anything at all.

Prompt #2

Begin your story with the line: 

Reluctantly, he handed over the key.

Due August 21st.

Prompt #1: A Glimpse Into a Childhood Lost

Rachel sighed, looking at the long to-do list in her planner, and wondered when she'd grown so very old. She closed it and, looking up, glimpsed a woman sitting in the crowded mall food court and was startled by her familiar face. The woman was beautiful with short black hair and slanted dark eyes, and at first, she thought she was an actress. Then Rachel noticed she was wearing scrubs and sitting with an older man. Surprised, Rachel realized the man was familiar too – he had a patch of grey hair at his temple that was striking in his dark hair.

Like a bolt of lightening, the streak of grey focused Rachel’s memory and she knew he was the woman’s father. Recognition spread thru her and she realized the woman was her childhood best friend. She pushed through the crowd toward the woman and nearly embraced her before she saw the woman didn't recognize her.

“Lindsay Richman,” she asked expectantly.

“It’s Lindsay Hunter now,” Lindsay replied, her eyes flitting to the oversized diamond on her hand.

“It’s Rachel. Rachel Brown.” Lindsay stared back at her, puzzled only for a moment, and then stuck out her hand. “Of course, it has been so long.”

Rachel returned the shake and Lindsay asked her to sit. Rachel and Lindsay spoke about their jobs and attempted to build a bridge across the last eighteen years. As Lindsay spoke, Rachel recalled the long-forgotten movements of Lindsay’s body, unchanged despite the time. As she'd had in her youth, Lindsay’s posture was confident and her hands moved with a causal grace. Rachel recalled memories of their shared girlhoods too and felt dizzy from all the images rushing into her mind at once. She remembered the forts they built out of the couch cushions in Lindsay’s basement so they could talk away from her brothers. They’d shared secrets and dreams there. Her secrets were small then but her dreams were so big. She remembered they’d watched the movie “The Sound of Music” and danced on her backyard playground singing, “I am sixteen going on seventeen” as they daydreamed together about growing up and falling in love. Rachel had been so heart-broken when her parents told her they were moving and she'd be parted from Lindsay. They'd written for awhile but lost touch entirely after a few years. The memories came to her as Lindsay spoke like waves on a still lake, and Rachel knew that ripples would remain.

Rachel was thinking about the club the girls' had formed (they'd called it ALARM), when Lindsay abruptly interrupted, saying that she had to return to her shift at the hospital. Rachel nodded, “It was really good to see you,” Lindsay said as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” Rachel agreed and as Lindsay walked away, she realized that they hadn't exchanged contact information. But Rachel didn't call to her -- she was sure they couldn’t rekindle their long-lost childhood friendship. Rachel was grateful though for the glimpse into her memory that their chance meeting had given her.

Response to Prompt 1

                Being the chosen one sucks.  It means you don’t really get a childhood.  Oh sure, you have a few carefree years running around with the other kids, playing like some normal child.  But eventually, usually around the time puberty hits, you are forced to abscond from everything familiar, everything you know and love, and go on some grand adventure, usually with a bunch of people you don’t know, who tell you that growing up on the farm was a huge mistake, or for your protection, and you’re the subject of some prophecy, or a long lost heir to a far-away kingdom.  As if puberty didn’t suck enough all on its own.

                No, now you gotta spend your days running and your nights hiding, learning to fight or govern, or some complex system of magic because, it turns out, the whole world is riding on your shoulders.  Does anyone ever stop and think what that sort of pressure does to a kid?  I mean, there are full-grown adults who can’t handle the pressures of their work-a-day lives, let alone being the savior of all mankind.  And now, you gotta shoulder it at the tender age of 13?  And that’s if you’re lucky.  Some start even earlier, if the storybooks are to be believed.

                Now, don’t get me wrong – there are definitely some perks.  You get to run a kingdom and everyone jumps to obey your every command (once you’ve been crowned).  Often, you get to master the arcane arts and shape the very fabric of reality to your whim.  But typically, there’s some archmage, evil emperor or warped demi-god who’s out for your blood.  And the perks typically only come if you survive.  Now, sure, there’s a prophecy that says everything’s gonna go your way, but you can’t really count on that, can you?  I mean, if you could, the guy on the other side wouldn’t even bother showing up to the final battle, because all hope would be lost for him.  And even if you CAN count on the prophecy, all it says is that you’re gonna win.  It doesn’t say anything about you surviving, or coming out the other side unscathed.  I’ve seen some pretty righteous cases of PTSD in my short life.  In fact, the guy teaching me how to swing a sword seems to be rocking a pretty bad case and he’s only fought in some minor battles.

                Perhaps the most unfair thing about the whole situation is that it’s not balanced.  Presumably, the emperor, archmage or demi-god on the other side got to have a childhood and grow into their evil ways.  It’s not like there’s some dark prophecy that says they’re gonna go off and overthrow my ancestor, causing me to go into hiding (or if there is, no one’s told me about it).  But come on – whose ever heard of a tiny tyrant who threatens to take over the world?  No one, that’s who.  The teenager always has to go up against the guy in the height of his power, who’s had years to hone his skills.  Meanwhile, I’ll be lucky to have a year to learn how to wield a sword and magic well enough to somehow scrape by against someone with a lifetime of experience.  How, exactly, is this a good deal for me?

                In the end, I respect the role I have to play.  I mean, what’s my option?  Go back to the farm and let the bad guy win?  You think he’s gonna leave me be?  Of course not.  Still, in many ways, I envy the boys I grew up with back on the farm.  They get a couple more years of irresponsibility and goofing off before they go off to an apprenticeship, or get more important roles in the daily life of the farm.  And the biggest decision they’ll ever have to make is whether to plant corn or barley.  They’ll likely never know that the fates of their entire lives rest on my narrow shoulders.  They’ll pick up a hoe instead of a sword.  They’ll get to marry the girl they’ve grown up knowing, rather than the stuck up princess they just met.  Yeah – I miss life on the farm.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a demi-god to kill.

Prompt #1

Prompt #1: "When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood." Sam Ewing

Write about a childhood.

Post by August 14.