Every now and then I select an image of mine and use it as a writing prompt. (I’ll list the other ones I’ve done down at the bottom, boys and girls.) I have a couple of other friends who do this too, but we don’t do all that fancy-pants linky-lou stuff, we just write. Maybe we post our pieces. Maybe we don’t. It’s a no pressure deal. Do you ever do anything akin to this?
Without further hoopla and ado (or dog poo on my shoe), here is my latest image and the written piece. Thanks for reading along. (Warning: this one is under 700 words!)
Lynn pulled on her favorite green corduroy pants, the painter style pair that matched the tie-die swirls of her t-shirt, and after she feathered her bangs, she pushed the mottled purple comb into her back pocket.
“Okay mom, I’m ready!” Lynn hollered as she flicked the bathroom light off.
A thick perfume cloud hung heavy and powdered blush stuck in pink flecks across the hairspray-sticky countertop. A tube of forgotten bubblegum Chap Stick rolled onto the floor.
As soon as Lynn’s mom parked the borrowed station wagon, in the empty second row slot straight across from the entrance, Lynn leaned across and kissed her mom’s cheek. She grabbed her well worn, roller-skates from the back seat. The leather was soft and the pink pompoms were a little ratty, but they hadn’t been worn yet this year. This would be the first time she tied the laces since the accident.
“I’ll look for you out front at ten. Here. Here’s a couple of dollars for a snack. Say ‘hi’ to Susie. I’ll be at the library if anything should come up. Okay?” said Lynn’s mom to her smiling daughter.
Mother and daughter looked alike, but not just in their height, build, and the way they wore their mousy brown hair, but in their smiles. They have similar toothy grins and full pink lips that push their cheeks into soft mounds whenever they smile. And at that moment, Lynn smiled because she was excited, but her mom smiled because she didn’t want to cry.
Lynn leaned on the metal door jam and poked her head through the open window, “I’ll be just fine, mom. Love you.”
“I know, honey, it’s just that…”
“Me too, mom. I know.” Lynn looked past her mom, twirled her hair around her finger, and said, “Hey, Susie told me that the sooner I get back into a normal routine and the more I hang out with my friends like I used to do, the faster I’ll recover.”
As if on cue, Abba’s Dancing Queen blared from a nearby van window and after the driver parked the rig, Susie stepped out, her long, black hair flew wild around her pretty face. She walked with both ballerina ease and Joan of Arc strength across the parking lot.
“Hey kiddo! What do you say we give that new leg of yours a whirl around the roller rink? I bet your friends are already in there waiting for you,” said Lynn’s energetic, twenty-seven year old physical therapist.
As the duo made their way across the parking lot, Lynn’s mom could hear them giggle and just before they went inside, Susie looked over her shoulder at Lynn’s mom and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Lynn’s mom exhaled a deep, pent-up breath and waved. After the front door slammed shut she leaned her head back and prayed for her daughter’s new normal. And just as God’s peace settled over her, she caught a whiff of her daughter’s favorite perfume on the baby blue, soft cotton jacket that Lynn had left in their borrowed car.
For your readerly pleasure, here are some additional writing prompt stories from the secret, and not so nefarious, writing club. Plus, there are some others thrown in the mix, tossed in the bowl, smeared on the counter, whatever. Here’s the full meal deal; well, most of the meal because I think I forgot to post one, or it’s hiding, or it ran away with the spoon and jumped over the moon. Ya know?