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Waiting Game 02/28-03/06 : Writing Prompts and Challenges • Page 3 • Writing Forum | WritersDigest.com

Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

The editors of Writer's Digest provide a weekly Writing Prompt to get your writing going.
Jumbie
 

RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby Jumbie » Mon Mar 06, 2006 5:27 am

Mitch,

I love the irony. I can picture him sitting in that peach-colored room. Wonderful!


Jumbie
 

RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby Jumbie » Mon Mar 06, 2006 5:29 am

These are all really good and so diverse. I guess we can all relate to the waiting game.


Eironia
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RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby Eironia » Mon Mar 06, 2006 9:13 am

Well, not a particularly fun first post, but I decided to quit haunting, sign up, and see if the prompts couldn't jar some writing out of my slacker self. I've been enjoying following along with everybody else's responses. :) I tried to fit the prompt into the context of my current writing attempts, but it was forced - then I just let myself write 499 words with waiting on my mind, and this is what came of it. Apologies if it's utter crap, this is far from my typical style so it's difficult for me to tell.

------

From darkness to light, from warmth to cold, born into the day - a rude awakening. The dull thud of a second hand echoes through the house; monotonous heartbeat of time the only sound. Stirring in the blankets, anxious to recapture warmth, silence, thoughtless bliss; brings the second awakening - pain.

Sleep flees before pain’s fires, elusive as smoke in grasping, claw-crooked fingers. The blankets weigh heavy as time. Pillows comfort. Dreams leave behind a residue of thoughtless thinking - busily blank. The seconds march by with monotonous tread, never a step off beat. Light seeps, lapping at toes; then trickles, washing past knees; and finally floods through the window.

Elsewhere in the house, a thin cry arises. Eyes close and breath bates to work free of the bed and, by degrees, stand.

Things to do. The dog goes out, must be fed, and watered; gallops back in a muddy and ecstatic mess. Cats clamor and trip until they too are fed, and then the stomach declares its own emptiness. Too much effort.

From kitchen to couch, from couch to chair, from chair to the windows, to couch; a ricocheting pinball, with as much purpose. Hunger gnaws. From book to book to magazine to book, restless. Sit, stand, lie down, stand, sit.

Finally succumbing to hunger, irritably waiting for the microwave's ding. Eating is a chore.

So many chores. House to clean, dishes to do, bills to - but don't think about that. Waning light falls through dirty windows. Too late to wash them now, better when the day is warmer. Just vacuum - but first the floor must be picked up. A magazine, dog toys, socks, a shirt, stacks of mail knocked askew and scattered. Ought to get the mail.

Pain a constant shadow, deeper than the falling night, closer than skin. The house is a mess - who cares? Tick, tick, tick - metronome setting the tempo for apathy, aimlessness.

From book to book. Opening lines memorized now, old friends suddenly become too familiar; only staying with each long enough to see the surface, then moving to another before reaching any depth. From face to face, never looking beyond the smile.

Crossing to the chair, sitting carefully upright, toes bouncing impatiently. Leaning slightly as though anticipating, waiting - for what? Nothing to do, nothing needs doing just now. The house settles with creaks, pops, and groans; it sounds older than twenty-something, twenty-five with a twisted spine.

Fingers clench and relax on the gnawed, ragged chair arms; tap a nervous tattoo on the bared wood. Waiting for someday. Waiting for dreams.

Unfolding slowly, stretching like a rusted slinky, stand - things to do. The dog goes out, gets called back in. Pets need to be fed. Eating is a chore, and so is showering, but both must be done.

Sleep beckons, but the silence before sleep looms. Finally the tide of awareness washes out, bearing the flotsam of thought, baring the sands of sleep.

In the quiet house, the clock ticks on, relentless - the heartbeat of inevitability.

jmar2
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RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby jmar2 » Mon Mar 06, 2006 11:00 am

Definitely not crap.  I felt the tension the repetitiveness created, if that was your intent.  I'd say very well done indeed. 

May
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RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby May » Mon Mar 06, 2006 3:32 pm

This is my first post here. 349 words.

I am lying on a bed in the emergency room. My head hurts like hell. They told me I was lucky in that I only got a few bumps and bruises. No broken bones or internal injuries.

My father wasn’t so lucky. He was somewhere else in this place and they were doing God only knows what to him. They had told me they were doing everything they could for him. I wanted to see him, hold his hand, caress his forehead and tell him I loved him. But no, they wouldn’t let me.

The nurse comes in, “How’re you feeling? Do you need anything?”
“Yeah, you can let me see my dad.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t right now. He’s in surgery.”
“Why? What’re they doing to him? Is he going to be alright?”
“Sweetie, I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything. Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay, but apparently I have no choice.”

I want out of this place. There are bad smells- blood, pee and vomit. Sweaty, dirty bodies. The sounds are just as bad. People moaning and crying in pain. A woman yelling, “What’s wrong with my baby? Help him please!” A lot of jumbled voices, those of doctors and nurses and sick, broken people. God, why don’t they all just shut up.

I stare at the needle stuck in my arm. Invading my flesh and blood. “It’s for your own good,” they told me. Yeah, so they could give me fluids and the poison they call medicine. The needle was held in place with a lot of tape so it wouldn’t dislodge. I start to pick at it’s edges. Loosening it slowly. Wait. I’ll need to stop the IV flow before I take the needle out.

I want my clothes. What did they do with my clothes? Did they cut them off and throw them away? I need them so I can get out of here. I have to find my dad. How am I suppose to leave here without my clothes? I can’t just walk out of here wrapped in a blanket.

(I didn't finish this)

jmar2
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RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby jmar2 » Tue Mar 07, 2006 2:04 am

Don't need to 'finish' it Linda.  It tells the story of waiting and wondering just fine.  Excellent job.

John

Jumbie
 

RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby Jumbie » Tue Mar 07, 2006 5:45 am

Jenny, as John said, not crap. It's very emotional and tense. If this is not your usual, what is? I'd love to see some of what you normally write. Drop a sample in the Critique Corner if you want. We'll be nice.


Jumbie
 

RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby Jumbie » Tue Mar 07, 2006 5:47 am

Linda, it's a good job, and a good way to introduce yourself. I was wondering why you didn't finish. Too close to home? Ran out of energy for it? Just curious, it's good without the "ending".


May
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RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby May » Tue Mar 07, 2006 6:17 am

Thank you John and Jumbie for the positive feedback.

Jumbie, to answer your question: I ran out of writing time yesterday and wanted to post what I had written.

Linda

Jumbie
 

RE: Waiting Game 02/28-03/06

Postby Jumbie » Tue Mar 07, 2006 2:58 pm


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