Magpie Writing Prompt. Image by Sarolta Ban |
He was late for work. He knew it was going to be one of those days. The razor suddenly was nothing but dull blades slicing through cream covered skin, empty coffee can, overflowing toilet, and then just as things could not get worse, the trash bag fell apart on his freshly dry cleaned suit.
“Great. What next?” he wondered as he looked up at the ceiling.
He was now even more late for work, doubting he’d ever make it there alive.
With torn bits of tissue on his face, double bagged trash in hand and a fresh new change of clothes, he dared to step out the door wondering what great tragedy may be around the corner.
Around that corner is where he saw his bus go by. Looking at his watch, he knew that was the last express bus to town. Cussing his sleepy suburb and its limited bus schedule, he started the 2-mile walk to the nearest train station. At least the train always ran on time like clockwork.
If he ran, he knew he could clear the 2 miles in less than 15 minutes. Did he really need to add sweat to his list of miseries? Being already late, he decided a leisurely walk just may help turn his day around. He walked like a man on a Sunday stroll without worries. He forgot, or managed to put on hold, thoughts about the layoffs and last night’s arguments with his wife. He was, for now, just a man taking a walk.
He noticed the cracks in the sidewalk and wondered when the deterioration began. He stopped at the local coffee shop and for the first time agreed to trying the Flavor of the Day. He never tasted The Amazon Elixir. Sipping his coffee, he decided it just may become his favorite. With a sprinkle of cinnamon he could close his eyes and hear drums and chanting. The feeling warmed him.
He felt chills, a tingle making its way up his spine. “I should make an appointment for that annual physical I’ve been putting off…” He shook his head and slowed his pace.
As if in a trance he forgot about work. Schedules and obligations were a thing of the past. He walked and walked. He felt drawn. Compelled. Called upon. He heard his name. Like a whisper in the breeze. The chills increased. He shivered. Sweat soaked his clothes. The breeze now had a rhythm. His name being repeated. Over and over. But oh so slow. He was no longer sure of it. Sure if it was his name he heard. Again and again. He felt the need to shake his head once more.
The breeze calling his name – singing his air – was warm. It smelled like what he imagined the Amazon Elixir should smell like. Enticing. Promising. He followed its breath straight down the cracked sidewalk. The boulevard became a road, which became an alley, which ended at a brick wall. He looked up and saw her, face to face with his breeze and now he heard his name loud and clear.
The wall was covered in spray paint. The graffiti was not signed. He did not know the artist, but he knew the subject. He had been sleeping next to her for more than 15 years. Seeing her. Smelling her. Hearing her. Those eyes, that energy like a raw emotion could only mean one thing.
Who painted this and how could he regain that look which was once reserved exclusively for him? He now knew his mission. He knew all that mattered was to win that look back.
smiles…now that is the perfect reason to call in sick…now go at it man earn that look back…smiles….nice write ma'am
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Very nice. I like how he felt the energies all around him as if for the first time. I actually felt energized reading it. Good writing.
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That was pretty fucking amazing, my lovely.~
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Thanks Brian, coming from a pro like you it means a lot…
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Thanks! Feeling energized is a good thing, right? 🙂
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Fucking amazing??? Really? Sweet!
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Great story! I could actually visualize it and not often that happens!
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How cool! Thanks so much…
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That was REALLY good! I'm not just saying that to be nice either. I enjoyed reading it…
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Now why would you want to be nice Pat? heh heh heh
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I love the image and how you set up the story to him coming across the graffiti. I read what you wrote about not liking the ending. You grabbed me and sucked me in with him stumbling upon the image of his wife on the wall. So much potential there and I too didn't like the ending. I would like just a little more…he didn't go to work…why? If you had to end it, I would end it with wanting to win the look back. That was a great sentence and it could have ended there.
I saw some grammatical stuff to correct (not a ton), but decided to leave my comment on the ending. If you want more from me, message me in S30P (Kelly Sajonia).
Overall, great job!
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Kelly, you're so right! That's most likely why I didn't like the ending, like if I was trying to spell it out to the readers… Thanks a lot for your feedback, I really appreciate it!
p.s. not a shocker to have grammatical stuff, English is after all my 2nd language, curious to know my mistakes though!
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Sometimes once you've lost the look, or no longer inspire the look, there is no way to get it back. ~Mary
ps thank you for that great note. it meant a lot.
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Oh that would be so sad… maybe he can get a new and different look but still full of love?
p.s. you're welcome, i just hate the haters ya know?
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Amazon Elixir should be your band name.
I like the stream of conscience part of how he's walking and the symbolism of the graffifi.
This is the third time I've read it and I've gotten something difefrent each time. That's good writing.
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Have you ever heard me sing? You don't want to, trust me. Actually Eric helped me out with some great editing notes which I need to make a list of his edits and use them for future writings… Thanks for the comment though!
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