#writingprompt365

[myinksage-blog]

Writing Prompt 365: A character injures their foot/ankle/leg but has someplace they need to be?                           The Rose

Crack. The sound rang through my soul as the pain choked my senses. Everyone warned me about pushing myself but my vanity had me ignoring them. Now I was left with a sprained ankle and it was my own fault. I glanced up at the clock, I had ten minutes before the show. Grinding my teeth, I shot forward, to no avail. 

Aaahhh!! I howled as I fell to the floor again. I crawled over to the corner where I had placed my purse earlier and sent an urgent text to my dance partner.

He burst through the door moments later, having been in the next room. His expression a mixture of concern and frustration, and then his eyes fell on me and turned to outrage. He bent down to cradle me in his arms while he walked across the room to the bench where he gingerly placed me. I was ashamed, my eyes couldn’t meet his, so he grasped my chin and tipped it upwards. 

“What happened, Deliah?!, Dante asked, his voice choked with worried and exasperation.

I told him how I had been pushing myself, practicing the final jump, and on the last time, I had misjudged the landing. He tried to run and get my understudy, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. That she-devil would not steal my stage, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.   

“Help me bandage this up, I will wear a bigger slipper and we need to change up the choreography, I need you there to take the weight off of my ankle,” I said as he went to work wrapping my injury. 

A few minutes later I was backstage, the noise of the crowd was like a hum in the air. My heart jumped with every beat of my pulse, my breath coming in short bursts. But the moment the curtain was drawn open, all that faded away like a doodle on the back of a hand. The only thing that was left was me, the stage and my dream. 

The quick uptempo music was hard to keep up with at first but after a while, the pain in my ankle turned to a numb fire. It only urged me on, making each move more monumental than the last. Where there had been jumps, beautiful lifts took their place, the reliance on my partner was almost symbolic. I relied on him for strength, and he relied on me for grace. 

By the end of the performance, the audience was as silent as a ghost but exploded with applause when I jumped into Dante’s waiting arms. As if he was my whole world, a love story made of flesh and movement come to life for all to see. I couldn’t stop the tears of gratitude and relief that spilled from my eyes on to his shoulder, I looked up and saw his smiling face and knowing eyes. Slowly so as not to jolt my injury he set me down supporting most of my weight and we all took our bows.    

Later that night, after all of the lights and cheers had faded I went back to relive those moments. To my surprise, a single rose was left in the middle of the stage. Slowly I picked it up mindful of the thorns and could not help but smile. 

[ftb-writes]

And the new prompt is...

by @writingprompts365 

A character sees something that reminds them of something they lost

-Was the thing rare/important or was it easily replaceable?

-Why are they reminded of it?

-How do they react?

[myinksage-blog]

Writing Prompt 365: A Character is Climbing a Wall? Where there is Smoke...

The brick was like needles biting into the meat of my palms as I scaled the wall. There was only a slight ledge for me to grip on to, it didn’t help my fear of heights. The underside of my nails was filled with remnants of cement and the blood trickled down the tips of my fingers staining it in my wake. Something in my head screamed at me and urged me on.  

“This is such bullshit,” I thought as I chastised myself for my own stupidity. How had I ever loved this man? The only good thing he had ever done was give me Dawn.  

Slowly inch by grueling inch, I approached the end of my climb. There was light spilling from the cracked window, and I could hear the shrill cries that cut through the stillness of the night. Which only made me climb all the faster.

“Damn that bastard,” I growled under my breath remember not to bring attention to myself.

Then I found myself dragged back to this morning when he had thrown me out of my own home. Taking my baby and left me nothing but bruises and horrible memories. But tonight I would have the last laugh and he wouldn’t touch me or my child ever again. I peer in the window and sure enough, the dick was passed out holding a bottle of booze, the dark brown liquid was dripping on the floor creating a puddle in front of him, a lit cigarette in the other hand.

Pathetic, but it made my job here easier at least.

Lifting the window quietly, I stepped inside grimacing at the smell of piss and stale beer. I pulled my leather gloves on cursing myself for not putting them on before. I made my way to the crib and hushed the baby and found her car seat placing her there while I gathered our things and shoveling them as quickly as I could into the backpack that I had slung over my shoulder. 

After that was done I look around the pitiful apartment remembering every traumatic memory that had taken place here, my little Dawn would never know that pain I experienced. I walk over to the kitchen and picked up a cast iron skillet and returned to stand beside the piece of shit. With a sneer, I swung with all my strength. Wack. He was definitely not waking up now. Almost immediately the cigarette rolled on the floor and flames drank up the liquor. 

No one would care, and no one would know because this was the third fire in our apartment. I had always been the one to put it out but this time the baby and I had been out. I picked up the baby and ran to the car. I smile as I watched the flames grow. I had always told him where there is smoke, there was bound to be fire.