27 Jan 2020
Today’s prompt: “Write a single paragraph that conveys a lot about a character’s life. Think about how this can be achieved with voice and rhythm and repetition.”
You used to read every Teen Titans comic you could get your hands on. But now your obsession is over. You used to volunteer in a soup kitchen every year around the holidays. But now all your good deads are over. You used to tuck your hair behind your ear just so. Just so. But now every twitch and tic you made is over. The relationship you were re-establishing with your estranged brother? Over. The sweet tree fort you were in the middle of building for your kids? Over. It’s all over. Thanks a lot, crevice that opened up in the earth and swallowed you whole.
25 Jan 2020
Today’s prompt: “You have been evicted from you home, but rather than live on the street you go to Ikea. At night you hide in the bathroom until the janitor leaves. Write about your life.”
The janitor at this Ikea is a woman, and you guess that she’ll want to clean the women’s room before the men’s room. So you hide in the men’s room and listen for the sound of toilets flushing as the janitor cleans the other stalls. Then you sneak out and hide behind a display of Liatorp bookcases until you hear the cleaning cart rumble out of the ladies’ room and toward the men’s. When the janitor disappears into the men’s room, you sneak into the women’s restroom and wait until you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing.
You stroll past the Själsligt ceramic cacti, the Skogskorn cushions, and the Sniglar cribs to the restaurant, where you waste no time in browning yourself some Köttbullar meatballs. You’ve been smelling them all day, but was it free sample day? Nooooo, it was not. You bake some Paj Ost cheese pies and grab a Munsbit oat smoothie to round out your meal. To hide your traces, you wash the dishes, prop open the back door with a Norråker table, and toss the open containers in the dumpster out back.
You tuck a change of clothes into a Bryggja 9-drawer chest and go to sleep on a Björksnäs king bed frame with a Myrbacka foam mattress, setting the alarm on your phone to wake you an hour and a half before the store opens.
When your alarm goes off, you stretch, change your clothes, make your way to the food market for breakfast, and choke to death on a Gifflar Kanel.
23 Jan 2020
Today’s prompt: “You, a grown adult, are afraid of the dark. Explain why this is a legitimate concern, so friends won’t laugh at you.”
We were on a boat, you and I.
We were camping. We took a canoe to paddle around the lake and go fishing. It was a big lake, with an island in the middle of it – a wooded island, thick with trees and brush. We decided to explore the island.
Our boots squelched so deeply into the mud at the island’s shore that it was difficult to pull them back out again. But we pulled the canoe onto the land. We were sure of that.
It was the middle of the day, but the island was cool from the tree canopy and the mountain air. The hike through the trees there was beautiful. There were wildflowers there that weren’t on the surrounding campgrounds. Around the lake, I recognized Indian paintbrush and larkspur and buttercups. But on the island, there were flowers I’d never seen before in my life, stabby blue spires and rounded blooms the color of open flame.
We wandered the island for a long while, and then you detected a slight chill in the air, and noticed where the sun was in the sky. It was time to head back, you said.
We retraced our steps to where we had beached the canoe. It wasn’t there.
We’re probably at the wrong spot, I said. This probably just looks like the spot where we left the canoe.
It’s a small island, you said. Let’s just wander around the perimeter until we find it.
And we wandered. And we wandered. And the sun dropped farther in the sky.
Sometime through our trek, I became certain we were where we’d started. You weren’t convinced, but we stopped and stacked some rocks on the shore of the island.
Later on, we hit a part of the shoreline that you thought looked like it had the drag marks of our canoe. We stacked rocks there too, and kept hiking.
About an hour later, it was very dark, but we could see the first stack of rocks. Our canoe was gone, we had no phone service, and it was dark. There was nothing for it but to move inland for the night. Tomorrow, one of us could swim for it and bring back a boat to get the other.
We walked through the woods, no longer enchanted by the plant life. Now we noticed the sounds of the island. The sound of lapping water melting away as we moved deeper into the trees. The sound of mosquitoes, a buzzing cloud. Other insect sounds, chirps and clicks.
We found a dry, flat patch. We lay down and said good night.
Before long there were new sounds. Wildlife sounds. Rumbling sounds. Rustles and gurgles.
What was that? I said.
I don’t know, you said. Some animal. Probably nothing to worry about. Probably more scared of you than you are of it.
I closed my eyes again. The sounds changed.
I could swear I heard a growl, I said.
I didn’t hear anything, you said.
I lay there quietly for a while, taking in the sounds around us. They seemed like they were getting closer.
I don’t feel safe here, I said. I’m going to climb a tree.
Suit yourself, you said. I’m going to try to get some sleep.
A few yards away from you, I found a tree with a low enough branch for me to climb. I pulled myself from one limb to the next until I was three branches up. I wrapped my arms around the scratchy bark of the trunk. Sap rubbed into my clothing.
I sat in the tree and listened to the noises of the island. After a while, they began to subside.
You were right, I thought. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I contemplated climbing down from the tree. It was pitch black now – if I was going to climb down, I would have to feel my way down. But I didn’t want to fall asleep in the tree and fall out.
I was just reaching a toe out for the branch below me when I heard your screams.
My blood froze. I solidified my perch on my branch, held the tree trunk, turned my head and leaned out to see what was happening, to see if I could help you, if you would be okay. But I could see nothing. It was too dark. And your screams continued. And there were sounds between your screams. Rustles and gurgles. Rumbles and growls.
I hugged the tree tighter.
In the morning, I found your body, mangled and torn apart. Around it were tracks. But not the tracks of any animal I recognized.
I bolted for the shore. I told myself I didn’t care if I drowned – I was going to try to swim for camp. But there was the canoe, sitting on the shoreline, paddles and lifejackets nestled safely inside.
I rowed to camp. I drove to the nearest forest service station. They recovered your body.
I’m never going back to that island. But sometimes in the dark, I can still hear those sounds. I sleep with the lights on these days.
21 Jan 2020
Today’s prompt: “A four-year-old child is afraid of the dark. Write about the child’s fears and what you might say or do to help the child overcome the fears.”
“Don’t worry, Savannah,” you tell the 4-year-old girl with the blanket pulled over her head. “Sure, they call Lexur’iga-serr’roth ‘He Who Devours All in the Dark.’ But I’m sure that nickname is just an exaggeration. I bet when he’s done eating me he won’t be hungry for you at all.”
19 Jan 2020
Today’s prompt: “Alfred Hitchcock said that a mystery is not knowing what will happen to a bunch of guys playing poker; suspence is when only you know there’s a bomb underneath the poker table. Write about a banal event, but start by introducing something that will change everything and that only the reader knows is coming.”
You lift your coat from the hook. Pull your right arm into its lined sleeve, then jostle the coat until your left hand finds the other opening. Adjust the coat over your shoulders and button it down.
the deep the dark
You reach for the roll of plastic bags in the junk drawer and tuck them into your coat pocket. You pick up the leash. Daisy tamps her paws in excitement.
the creeping dark
You fasten the hook to Daisy’s collar. She rushes to the door and whines in anticipation.
unseen it comes from the shadows
You open the door and step into gleaming sunlight. Daisy struggles at the end of the leash, stretching the muscles in your arm.
unseen it lurks unseen it seeps it roils it billows
Daisy reaches the sidewalk and turns right to follow your regular path.
far from its realm it hastens its speed riding the wind
Nose to the ground, Daisy sniffs the edge of the neighbor’s yard, thoroughly, meditatively, then squats to pee in the grass.
tendrils feelers reach out like fingers grasping at worlds beyond its own
And as if she’d never paused, she’s off again, straining at the leash.
the deep the dark the creeping unknown
You traverse your familiar neighborhood. The house with the yellow arched door. The house with the overgrown front yard. The house with vines creeping up the chimney. The house with the plum tree.
it ripples the surface of a lake it burrows underground
Daisy stops tugging and wanders onto a plush green lawn. You tear a plastic bag off the roll, lick your thumb and forefinger and rub them against the bag’s edge to open it.
it winds itself into root systems it spreads into leaves into bark into cattails along the riverbank into blades of grass it is everywhere
You scoop up the dog poop and knot the end of the bag. Daisy is already yanking her way forward. You keep walking. Two more blocks, then you’ll turn back.
and now it coalesces it pools it shifts all its cold dark being into a black something in needly boughs
You duck your head as Daisy propels you along below the giant spruce.
with darkness with screeching it floods from its hidden perch it swarms around warm flesh it buzzes with hunger it seethes with malicious joy it is the unknown devourer it leaves nothing behind and then sated it melts back into the trees into the roots into the ground into its own realm
Daisy runs off, her leash attached to nothing.
17 Jan 2020
Today’s prompt: “A boy who tries to be funny when nobody is laughing at his jokes”
“When I say, ‘Knock knock,’ you’re supposed to say, ‘Who’s there?’,” the boy says to your decaying corpse.