This week’s prompts are at the bottom. Feel free to seize the prompts, twist them, form them, play with them as you will. All comers are welcome. The words below are just practice for me. I had a lot of fun writing them, and you know what I always say, “Practice makes perfect.”
Here’s how to play along, if you are unsure.
###
Camille Howard brought the last of what he had remaining in from the U-Haul and piled it with all the rest of his shit in the corner of his room.
“There ya go, Dad,” she said, “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to see how you settled in.”
There were no paintings on the wall, not a single one. A few pieces of his clothes lay piled on the bed, along with some other shit that Camille had brought.
There were books about submarines: books about submarines written by people who had never been on a submarine. There were jeans, tee shirts, toiletries, and the like. They had let him bring some duct tape, but none of his tools had come along. There was not a single piece of his grandchildren’s artwork either. Artwork that had hung on his fridge for years. Worst of all, there was not even one photo of Jane. Nothing to remember her by.
He had his laptop though; and he had a copy of The Late Great Townes Van Zand CD. It was the 1972 release with ‘Pancho and Lefty.’
Boyd figured there was no way he would get out of here alive. You never get out of places named “Twilight Manor.” Not alive anyway.
After Camille made her exit, Nurse Flusche came in. He had met her earlier.
“Welcome, welcome to Twilight Manor, Mr Howard.” She looked at the clipboard she clutched in her left hand, “Your name is Boyd?” she asked.
He nodded.
“May I call you Boyd?” She didn’t give him time to answer, “Boyd,” she rolled the name on his tongue to see how it felt, must have decided that she liked it because she used it again. “Arts and Crafts starts in ten minutes, Boyd. I’ll push you down to the Commons, and you can meet a few other residents. I think today, they are working with clothes pins and Play Dough.
All Boyd could think was, How could Camille, my own daughter, do this to me?
He decided to begin immediately. He was going to find a way to get out of here. He had to. He wasn’t fooling himself, though. It wasn’t going to be easy.
#####
This week’s prompts are:
- last bent butt from a packet of Old Golds
- already ready
- Old age slumps deeper in the chair