Free Write Friday: Quote Prompt

This is kind of a continuation of something I wrote earlier in the year. Check it out here first if you’d like. I haven’t done a FWF in awhile, but as soon as I saw this one, the words just started pouring out.


The snow had finally stopped falling and was beginning to melt away. Spring was still a long ways off as the long winter finally came to an end. It wasn’t the easiest winter for the girl, that was for sure. Not just because of the bitterly cold temperatures, but because of the dull ache that had been in her chest for months until she finally learned to let him go.

On a day when the grass was just beginning to show through the dirty snow, and the air was tempting her with a hint of warmth on its wind, she received a text that stopped her dead in her tracks. Looking at her phone, she saw a number that had been long deleted from her contact list. It was one that instantly transported her back to warmer days.

It was August, during the week of the local fair, and she was sitting in one of the ticket booths when he came up. In her mind, it was a typical meeting. Introductions were made, they shook hands, and they parted ways. By the end of the week, however, things were shifting slightly. She had observed the way this man handled himself, worked with others, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was hoping he’d ask her out.

By the end of the week, he did. Of course, it took her by surprise; she mumbled something about how hectic her schedule was with no time for dating. However, he was undeterred. Countless text messages later, she was able to see just how amazing he was. The thought of him consumed her mind, and soon she was sneaking away to see him every chance she got. The next few months were filled with walks, phone calls, and sitting with him on the combine during the harvest.

By mid-November, she knew she couldn’t go on with this anymore. It wasn’t a relationship; she didn’t know what it was. So, she decided to cut things off. She needed time to think, to be alone, and to try to get over him. For five months, they never talked or texted. Finally, by late winter, she had begun to get over him and even went on a couple of dates with someone else. Yes, things were beginning to looks up and he just might now be a part of her past.

Staring at her phone, hundreds of thoughts were rushing through her mind. Even though his name was no longer in her contact list, the number was all too familiar. Confusion came rushing in. At last, curiosity got the best of her, and she opened the message.


Free Write Friday: Image Prompt

Time for another Free Write Friday! This house has a story, what is it?

Image Credit: We Heart It

Image Credit: We Heart It

The warm rays of yet another sun rising over the horizon slowly awakened the old, dilapidated farmhouse. Her boards creaked and groaned as she settled into a more comfortable position. The sun, shining on the gray paint, which was once white, illuminates the areas where it has peeled and exposed the naked boards beneath. The old farmhouse is deteriorating slowly: shingles gone after every storm, the second-level porch sagging on its supports, half the shutters now missing. She remembered when she was young, vibrant, and full of life. Then, she was home to a family of humans and not the current one of raccoons living in her cellar.

She could easily remember those days. Her family filled every corner of her then—maybe too many people for that one house—and two generations had been born and raised there. Of the many people who had romped through her halls, one person always stood out as special to her. His name was John.

Her loyalty laid not to the man who had created her, painstakingly building her from scratch, but to his grandson, John. John loved the house, and she loved him. She remembered when he carved his name into her side stating that she was “forever and always his house.” He would leave—for college, to visit his fiancé, or for extended trips—but he would always return. The last time he left, he was old and gray—much like she was now.

John’s children had convinced him he couldn’t remain in the house any longer. He was frail and no longer able to care for her as he once did. When he left her walls for the final time, she didn’t know anything would be different. She believed he would one day return. The grass grew long, the seasons blended into years, yet she still waited. She waited for the day that John would return to her; bringing with him the warmth and love that she so desperately craved, never once contemplating that he wouldn’t.

Free Write Friday (It’s not a Friday, but who cares.)

It’s Sunday morning, I’m wide awake from making one too many espressos, and I decided it’d be the perfect time to do my first Free Write Friday–two days late. Basically, Kellie Elmore gives you a prompt, you get inspired, and you write whatever comes to mind. I prefer creative writing with some sort of imagery, and that’s what I did. Enjoy. 🙂

Here was the prompt:

You suddenly find yourself standing alone on an unknown sidewalk in an unknown place. It’s night and snowing and the only other person around is walking away from you….

You suddenly find yourself standing alone on an unknown sidewalk in an unknown place. It’s night and snowing and the only other person around is walking away from you….

The Girl With the Umbrella

On a cold night late last winter, the snow fell around me as I stood and stared into the darkness. Silently, the flakes floated from the winter sky and blanketed the sidewalks. There, in the distance, The Girl With the Umbrella was walking away from me. She never looked back at me—not even a single glance from the corner of her eye. I half wished she would come running back; I wished I could run after her. I opened my mouth to call her name, but no sound came out. Even though she was once a part of me, I knew it was best that we were now separated.

We grew up together—The Girl and I—we were one and the same. She was always hiding behind the umbrella and shielding us from everything: the sun, the rain, and the world. Then there was me: wanting to soak up the sun, get drenched in the rain, and meet new people, yet never able to see beyond the umbrella. Her grip on my hand was tight; her whispers quiet, yet forceful in my ear. “No, don’t step out from underneath my umbrella. It’s safe and dry here. See, nothing can touch us or harm us as long as we remain shielded behind it.”

This night, I had had enough. I decided, once and for all, to step out from underneath the umbrella and pry my hand from her grasp. She yelled, kicked, and screamed at me. Then, she pleaded and begged me not to cast her out in the cold. “We’re a team!” she sobbed as she twisted the umbrella in her white hands, “You won’t survive without my protection!” In the blustery wind, with snow blurring my vision, I stood firm. I knew that if I was to become the woman I wanted to be, I had to send her away.

Finally, realizing that I was not going to step back underneath the umbrella, she turned and strode away. I stood watching until she disappeared around the corner taking with her everything she had represented: fear, bitterness, and shyness. With a sense of new-found wonder, I looked at my hand that had always been gripped in hers. I opened and closed my fist and reveled in the freedom I felt there. Despite the darkness and cold surrounding me, I felt as pure and as free as the snow that covered The Girl’s footprints.