Day 8

Dream-catcher: Write something inspired by a recent dream you had.

It’s wonderful and interesting that this prompt is where it is, as just a few days ago I made a small decision and slight change to the website. More on that in a moment.
For those that don’t know, so – everyone but my mom, I have incredibly vivid dreams. I have for as long as I can remember. And, the best part (mostly) is that I can recall them pretty well. Tiny little details feel so lifelike, that I can just write them down. Sometimes, this is disadvantageous, when they are scary dreams about content I’d rather not dream about, i.e. ANTS.
Story Time: My mom and I were given the opportunity to go to Greece for a week. Long story short; our first flight got delayed and the airline put us up in a nearby motel. Great start, right? It gets better. That night I woke up drenched in a cold sweat and an absolute panic because I had been trapped in a room with huge ANTS coming out of the walls and the ceiling. They were all over the edges, walking in lines as these little mini demons do and literally coming out of the walls. Not cracks in the walls, but ghosting through them until manifested physically in the room I was trapped in. Needless to say, I’m not a fan of ants. Cut to the end of the week and the end of our breathtaking journey through Greece, and our travel group is standing in baggage claim waiting on our luggage. I don’t know what brought me to look directly up, but I swear, I almost pooped my pants. For directly above me, were ants. Coming out of the walls. On the ceiling. HUGE ANTS. An art installation, it turned out to be. Very poor taste, in my opinion. So to summarize, I will never forget that dream or how real it felt, how vivid it was.
However, most of the time, the dreams lend towards wonderful writing material and not horrible childhood trauma. So now for that slight change I mentioned earlier. Just a few days ago I had the idea to use an image of a dream catcher at the end of all my blog posts that were the result of a dream I’d had the night before. I want you beautiful readers to be able to know what’s simply fiction and what’s the result of an unconscious state of fiction. So, even though this post wasn’t inspired by a recent dream, check out my previous posts that were. And hopefully, there will be many more to come. 😊

Photo Courtesy of Clayton News-Daily.com

Day 7

The Rocket-ship: Write about a rocket-ship on its way to the moon or a distant galaxy far, far, away.

Both deafening and silent, the dense smoke slowly enveloped more and more of every available space around the motionless body of the ship’s captain. She’d been unconscious 2 minutes already. She was running out of time. Blinding for seconds at a time, the flashing red alert lights kept a solidly disorienting pace. Crew members were running around everywhere, less like a specially trained team and more like ants who’s livelihood had just been stepped on by a giant booted foot. All around were sounds of crying and groans, but muffled, as if the smoke was dampening the sound.
“Captain? CAPTAIN?!” A crew member yelled for his leader, stumbling blindly through the halls while trying to simultaneously breathe and not breathe. The young 34 year old wasn’t sure his lungs had ever craved oxygen this badly. He was also very sure they had never felt this level of betrayal, where every breath was not sweet relief but instead thousands of tiny knives stabbing him from the inside. He knew without a doubt if he ever made it out of this, he never wanted to experience anything like this again. If he made it out.

*So sorry this is short and directionless and plotless and etc. I’ve been hung up on it way too long though, so we movin’ on. 😂

Day 6

Eye Contact: Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.

The tang of iron and the smell of fresh meat overwhelmed her senses before her next patient was lifted up onto the table next to her. She could hear the trauma doctors talking, just barely, and thought she made out the words “church” and “car accident.” When they lifted the patient to the table, many things poured into the volunteer’s heart, all at once. Gentle her, brush her, her Father God loves her. The Holy Spirit giving her these thoughts was the only way Audrey was able to tell this was a woman. As she was placed onto the table, Audrey was shocked, but honored, to see that she was still conscious, in complete fear, and looking right into her eyes.
“Hey sweet girl, my name is Audrey, can I hold your hand?”
The woman nodded ever so slightly and Audrey gloved up with the many years of experience making the action seem effortless and then picked up the woman’s right hand in hers, ever so carefully, for the skin was cut, bleeding and her far right two fingers were completely missing, which Audrey instinctively knew not to draw attention to. She let the woman’s hand sit in hers, and gave it a ‘barely there’ squeeze.
“Whats your name, beautiful?”
“Eh-Elena”, the woman pushed out, more air behind the nomenclature than any vocal components.
“Elena, we’ve got you. I know you’re scared. I know you’re in pain. But you’re in good hands, and guess what?”
Audrey got a little bit closer and dropper her voice a few notches, not as if to prevent anyone else from hearing what she said next, but with the intention of making it more personal, more private, more…gentle.
“Youre in God’s hands.”
Elena’s eyes filled with a sparkle, that then quickly turned into a singular tear that rolled down the bridge of her nose and on to the table.

At this point the doctors had set up everything they needed to stabilize Elena, and were starting to get to work on her wounds. Her entire scalp had been ripped off, not a hair on her. Her face, shoulders, arms were all puffy and inflamed, each one having been cut what seemed to be a thousand times. They believed her right ankle to be shattered. This woman had a long road ahead of her. But, Audrey knew that was not important at this moment. At this moment, what was important was that this woman know she is loved. KNOW that she is cared for, both externally by the knowledgeable, experienced doctors and nurses buzzing around her, and internally, by the Father God that loves her so much.
“Elena, can I pray with you?” The woman again nodded slightly, more blinking her desire than anything else.
“Can I use the D-word with you? I know some Christians cringe when we call God a certain name.” Audrey chuckled this question out, hoping Elena understood the semi-joke and by the smile that cracked her face for the first time since coming in, Audrey knew she had.
“Daddy God, we love you. We love you for loving us, and we love you for being right here next to Elena right now. Father, this is a hard time, this is a painful time and we need you now more than ever. We ask for and receive your grace. Your beautiful grace. We ask for and receive your strength and Daddy God, I praise you for the strength and endurance you have already gifted to Elena. Lord, I thank you for her. She is such a beautiful sister in You and I am so thankful to have her be a part of my life. Father God, she needs you now. Cover her in your comfort, that she may never feel alone or scared. Cover her in your peace, that she may always hold onto a purpose that is so much higher than all this. Cover her in your healing, Jehovah Rapha, my God who heals. Lord, be with her in every moment. Holy Spirit, counsel her in these dark and painful times. Give her a glimpse of the future. Let her see the beauty and the purpose for the Kingdom that she is going to be able to use this testimony for. Daddy God, use this experience to draw her closer to you, and to draw those around her closer to your beautiful Son, Jesus Christ. We love you, Daddy God. We praise you and worship you and thank you and trust you. Amen.

Audrey felt a squeeze from Elena’s three fingers and gently squeezed back. She lifted her hand to Elena’s head, with the intended action of brushing the side of her face and hair, but hovered just a few inches above her head, knowing that the sentiment would translate, but the bacteria and possible source of infection wouldn’t.
“You’re going to be okay, sweet girl. I feel it in my soul. You’re going to be okay.” The corner of Elena’s lips curved again once more in a small smile before she drifted off, into a peace-infused sleep. Audrey sat there with her for a few more hours, praying over every cut and scrape, for the doctors working on her, the nurses keeping her comfortable and safe, and praying that, even as they wheeled her off to the OR, she would feel comforted and safe. And know that she is loved.

Day 5

Food: What’s for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe.

A haiku may be beautiful in it’s simplicity, but I find the simplicity to be too restricting. How can I fit all of the words to describe all of the feelings that are connected to all of the emotions that represent all of life? Not in 17 syllables, that’s for sure. So alas, poetry is not my forte. Word art seems to be. Proficient at the long-winded, I am. Which, side note, remind me to write a blurp later on my issues with character limits and my idea to petition the abolition of them. But, for now, I’m going to stick to my prompt, and write about my best friends. My best friends that I haven’t seen in far too long. I’m not going to lie; it’s a little soul crushing and very convicting to scroll through their Facebook profile’s and realize I’m not in nearly enough of the recent pictures. I need to reach out more. And I can blame my absence on the distance, sure. I can blame it on a busy life, and a busier work schedule. Or, I can own it, repent for it, and change it. And since that model fits so perfectly with the way my life has been going lately, I’m going to go with that. So friends, I apologize that I haven’t been more there for ya’ll. I am sorry that I have not been as present as [hopefully] either party would have liked. And I promise to put forth more effort. To call or video chat, to reach out and be that fierce friend that doesn’t let go. (Though no worries, I’ll never be able to reach Sarah-status. 😉 And hopefully soon, we can meet, my dear friends, at a cafe.

Day 4

4. Dancing: Who’s dancing and why are they tapping those toes?

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Pexels.com

In the way back of her mind she knew, logically, people could see her. It wasn’t pitch black, just darker towards the back, where Katerina chose to sit this wet Sunday morning. She rolled out of bed a little late, got ready quickly and raced to church, getting wet both going into the car and getting out of it. But when she headed into the sanctuary, the bit of dampness didn’t matter, for the music was already filling the rafters. This was her favorite part. Of church, of the week, of ever. Dancing all her life, Katerina had barely chosen the section to put her stuff in when she started swaying to the praise. She closed her eyes, prayed, and then started dancing. If you didn’t know Kat-J and know what she did every Sunday, you may have been surprised to see her doing pirouettes and barrel turns next to you. Her legs and arms spinning as if out of control but simultaneously in a beautifully composed, graceful manner. This was her worship. This was her offering to the Lord God she loved so much. This was her praise to a Father God who indescribably made her beautifully and within His own image. So she danced. She danced with all her heart, with all her soul and with all her mind. Some songs she sang to as well, some she prayed during, and some she just silently gave Jesus everything in her heart. But she did it all for the glory of the God Most High, her best friend, her fierce protector and wonderful counselor. As the praise and worship died down and everyone took their seats, Katerina Jane did as well, yet even sitting, her toes never stopped tapping to the beat she could still hear in her heart.

Day 3

3. The Vessel: Write about a ship or other vehicle that can take you somewhere different from where you are now.

Your ship is only as smart as the one who is driving it. Audrey tried to hold onto those words her mother had whispered in her ear as she was leaving. But the young girl, now Captain, couldn’t shake the feeling that this ship was different. This ship was smarter than her. Autonomous, almost. It was the little things, like the ship slightly adjusting without Audrey’s command to miss a little piece of space junk down on the right hull. Or, when their course was ever so slightly altered so the sun was not directly in Audrey’s eyes. She knew she wasn’t doing those things. She shivered and flashed back to all those years before, when she wasn’t doing any of those other things either, yet, “she” was. She still couldn’t believe that help had finally come. She couldn’t believe that she had made it out of that situation, with everyone finally knowing the truth. It still haunted her. The emotional damage had been done, but she had the opportunity to make repairs, and for that she was so grateful. She glanced at their destination on the map again, and another shiver took her over. How she could even contemplate going to this hellhole, she did not know. There had been a sunken pit in her stomach ever since she was told that she was commanding the mission to, essentially, get revenge on the aliens that had touched down so many years ago. Her real mission was to bring back the item they stole, a priceless weapon that, in the wrong hands, would not be good. But still, she knew anger was a strong motivator behind her mission details. A lot of people had gone through what she had gone through. A lot of people lost loved ones, and were betrayed by “loved” ones. “You will arrive at your destination in 14 hours, 30 minutes.” The AI voice echoed through her cabin, and she wished to herself they weren’t on half hour alerts. Guess I’ll go do a round, check on everyone. She pushed herself away from the cockpit and stood up, taking a moment to look at the picture of her family hanging on the window. I love you guys. She stepped out the command center, and went down the hall.

Day 2

2. The Unrequited love poem: How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back?

Photo by Tasha Kamrowski on Pexels.com

She couldn’t deny her panic any longer. She had had a run in with this thing before, and it had not gone well the first time. Now, it was back, and it was destroying everything. Or, worse, she was destroying everything. The first time the alien had come into her life was her introduction into knowing there was even life out there other than her own kind – and then to learn that it was not only alive but diabolical, manipulative, and…well, simply evil… was a shock to say the least. She was still having nightmares from the first go-round. And now those nightmares were real life. “She” had already shot and killed 2 of her neighbors. And she’d never be able to erase their desperate looks of betrayal out of her mind. “She” had already murdered a bus driver down town. “She” had already set fire to this little lady’s house 4 doors down, and she didn’t know if that old grandma of 3 had made it out. Currently, she was in a little shed, frantically trying to scribble a message on the wood of the unfinished inside. Mom, Dad, lil’ sis. I love you guys so much. I’m so sorry, but none of this is my faul– The door behind her flew open. The spitting image of her own curly hair, her own freckles, her own smile now twisted and distorted burst into the small room of the shed, “Well, well, there you are.” The voice cackled and even though it had the same vocal components as her own, the timber was different. You could hear the evil, the otherworldly. “And what are we doing now?” “She” laughed, and grabbed a can of paint sitting on the counter top next to her. As “she” popped open the lid, the real Audrey threw her arms over her little note, trying to protect it from what was coming. She cried, with her head buried close to the words that she now knew her own family would never see. “She” started splashing the paint all over, and Audrey felt the liquid hit the back of her head, her nose, dribbling down all over. She watched as the wall around her started darkening, and knew that soon her only hope of getting the message to her family that it wasn’t her doing all these horrible things, that she loved them so much, that she was so sorry, she watched that message get covered in a deep blue teal. She crumpled to the floor, her own voice laughing behind her.

Day 1

1. Outside the Window: What’s the weather outside your window doing right now? If that’s not inspiring, what’s the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?

It looked clear enough outside. Blue enough that the day should start off peaceful and quiet. But she knew it was a lie. For though the air was clear, it was also still. Not a single leaf fluttered or tree limb swayed. There was not a trace of movement outside her window. And deep in the Bible Belt, down in the South, she knew for this August day where the rest of the country might be contemplating the beginning of Fall, it was going to be hot the second she opened that front door. And not just hot, but Georgia hot. Can’t deny climate change hot. Melt your fudgesicle before you even get in the car hot. And it was only 7:55 am. She sighed. Why did I buy a house in the state whose weather I hate the most??! She dreamed of Wisconsin, Oregon, Colorado. Of beautiful Fall days and deliciously deep snow drifts. She dreamed of weather where putting on more clothes was the norm, not taking off as much as was legally allowed. She sighed again. Alas, she was stuck. Maybe if her luck turned, this would be a winter where it snows. She can only hope. Or maybe move.

Photo by istu zhang on Pexels.com
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