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.
Martie was 12 years old and in grade seven; when she noticed the first grey hair. It grew at her hairline, just to the right of centre of her forehead. She panicked and plucked it out. That afternoon, when she returned home, she hurried to the bathroom to look in the mirror. A close examination revealed that two grey hairs now grew in the spot where she had, just that morning, plucked the one.
She pulled out the two new ones, did her homework and went to the kitchen for a snack. Her mom was there, fussing over something: probably dinner, but maybe not. They visited for a while before Martie headed back to her room.
She wanted to call Sherry. Sherry was currently feuding with Elaine, and Martie wanted to catch up on the situation. She glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her door.
Shit! More grey hair. She peered closer at the mirror and saw four of them. Carefully, she isolated each one, wrapped them individually around her index finger and pulled them out by the roots.
Damn, this is beginning to hurt. Mom had a few grey hairs, but Mom was old. Grey hair was normal for seniors.
Martie inspected her hairline but was unable to spot any more silver. She phoned Sherry. They gossiped for almost an hour about Elaine. Martie learned that Rose was now feuding with Sherry. That was OK, though.
Because Rose was a bitch anyway.
Martie decided to see if she could help her mom with dinner, but she glanced at the mirror again. Shit, more grey hairs? What’s going on? She left them this time, determined to hurry and ask her mother about them.
“Mom,” Martie began when she got to the kitchen.
“What’s up Mar?” her mother answered.
“Look at my hair, Mom. It’s turning grey.” Martie told her as she pointed to her hairline. “I don’t think I’m old enough to have grey hair. That’s for old people.”
“Hey,” Mom stopped her, “Hey, I’m beginning to get grey hair.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. You’re old. I’m not.”
Martie’s mom leaned down and looked where her daughter was pointing. She studied the situation for a bit, pushing the hair around some. Finally, she sighed and said, “You might be right, Babe, but I’m not that old, and you don’t have that many grey hairs, maybe eight or so. I don’t think you need to be concerned.”
“That’s the problem though, Mom. This morning I had one. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and now I have eight? I pulled the one I found this morning. Two grew back, and I plucked them, then there were four, and now you’re telling me there’s eight. What’s up with that?”
“You’ve been pulling them out?” Mom asked with a hint of urgency in her voice. “Don’t do that. If you pull out a grey hair, two grow back in its place. Every time you do that, you double the number of grey hairs! My mother taught me that. I thought you knew it too.”
When she graduated from High School, Martie flipped her hair to the other side of her head. That allowed her grey streak to shine. When Principal Chavez shook her hand and gave her her diploma, he leaned in and said, “I love your hair tonight. Grow more sparkles, Martie Spencer. Brighten the world.”
This week’s prompts are:
- onomatopoeia as a weapon
- a thimbleful of coffee
- raise a flag, I’ll tear it down
You can start writing whenever you want, just write, get the words down – and have fun! All the best!