This week’s prompts are at the bottom. The story below was written only for practice, because practice is what makes perfect. The inspiration for this story came suddenly when I looked at the driver of the car next to me this evening as I was going to the market. That lady became my character, Holly in the story below, that I wrote for practice.
Holly leaned closer into the mirror and put on another layer of black eyeliner. She squinted and studied the deep creases that ran across her face – her own private topographical map of mountainous terrain. She thought about her mother and her mother’s skin, her mother’s complexion. She considered how much she looked like her mother, now that she was older.
Her father had been blessed with a flawless complexion; smooth skin until the day he died. Her mother had the face of one of those ‘apple head’ dolls and so did Holly. She stuck a fair sized gold hoop through the piercing on her left ear lobe. A sports bra helped to conceal her breasts and she wrapped a green and silver silk scarf around her head, pushed high on her brow. The effect was to lift her mostly grey hair (that had once been inky black) straight up, on top of her head, making her seem taller.
She finished dressing by donning a man’s white button down dress shirt and topped it with a linen sports jacket left open in the front. On her wrists she pushed gold, silver, and carved bone bangles; in her hair she hung beads. A skull shaped ring had been pushed down over the swollen knuckle of her left ring finger. Tight leather trousers and Doc Martens completed her outfit.
Lighting a cigarette she looked in the mirror one last time: perfect. There was a knock on the door.
“Come on, Mom! We’re gonna be late.”
She pulled the door open and stood face to face with her oldest boy, Mickey. Ron, Mickey’s younger brother, stood at the end of the hallway jingling car keys, he was the designated driver. Ron was always the designated driver.
“Ohh, look at you, Mom,” Mickey said with a singsong voice, “You goin’ as Alice Cooper this year?”
“Don’t call me Mom, you little shit and don’t call me Alice either – call me Keith! Let’s go.”
Ron picked up his guitar and handed Holly hers. They, all three, traipsed through the kitchen to the garage.
“Lookin’ good, Mom,” Ron said.
“I got shotgun,” Mickey called out.
This week’s prompts are:
- limpid pools
- look at these scars
- when the boys arrive
Go ahead and dive in, set your imagination free!
Ready, Set, Go – you have 25 minutes, but if that is not possible, take as long as you need.