This blog is all about creative writing. This blog is about using writing prompts I find online and elsewhere, be it Writer's Digest Magazine ( www.writersdigest.com ) or other places. These past few days I have found several writing prompts online so I am going to try to choose one prompt a day at a minimum and come up with some kind of writing with that prompt. Maybe it will be a short story. Maybe it will be an essay, or a short memoir. Maybe it will be a poem. I have no idea what this experiment will end up with. What I am hoping it will do is bring this brain of mine back into thinking more creatively and see what I can actually do. I would appreciate your honest comments about what you read in these posts. Just remember that this blog is, as are all my other blogs, rated G and is safe for family viewing. If you post a comment that is offensive, it will not be published.
Be warned, I have a quirky mind sometimes, if not most of the time. So you can be sure that the writing prompts I choose will be quirky as well.
So...here goes...
Writing prompt #1:
"Write a story about an empty glass", (from www.creativewritingprompts.com )
There it sat on the end table. Empty. Once the glass was full. Once it held flavor. Taste. The glass had been sitting on that table for several days. It was hard to tell now what was originally in it. Was it milk? Was it fruit juice? Or was it just plain water? Now it was just dried up and dirty. It needed washed. It needed picked up and taken somewhere else where it would be taken care of. Cleaned up. Eventually refilled with something else having flavor and taste. Kara sat there in the dimness of the twilight staring at the empty glass. It was his glass. It was the last thing he had done before he walked out the door for the final time. She could barely see his fingerprints on the side and she could picture him sitting there drinking whatever it was he had been drinking. She couldn't remember that now, what he had been drinking. Why couldn't she remember? Hadn't she poured the glass for him and brought it to him?
Now she felt as empty as the glass. He was gone and he would never return. It was as though all the flavor of her own life had been drained from her just as the liquid had been drained from that glass on that last day. She couldn't bear to touch the empty glass, let alone carry it to the sink to be washed. It would wash away all his fingerprints and those were just about all she had left of him that was fresh. If she washed away his fingerprints it would be like burying him all over again and she just couldn't do it. Not yet anyway.
He liked Pepsi. Maybe that was what he had been drinking that day before he left for the game. He was late and he had to hurry to get to the ballpark before the coach penalized him for being late again. They said the sun must have been in his eyes and as he hurried toward the ballpark, he never saw the car coming at him from the right as he rode right out into the intersection without even slowing down. Death had come instantly. He didn't suffer. That's what they all told her. All she knew was that he would never be coming home again. How could she possibly wash that glass now?
Silently, a tear streaming down her cheek, she rose and walked to the other room. She couldn't look at the glass anymore today. Today the glass would sit there as it had been for the past week. Empty. Just like she was.
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