Todayʻs prompt is a creative one! I havenʻt written anything creative in quite some time, so I will give myself some grace, haha. Oh, and disclaimer, whatever else you read from this point on has nothing to do with my own life (although, you might never know and that is truly the beauty of creative writing).
______ is burning. Fill in the space and the rest of the scene.
His heart is burning. Not literally, but it almost feels that way.
Today, he woke up and something didn’t feel right. As soon as his eyes opened, he saw the sun rising through the curtain. The orange and the yellows blending together creating the most beautiful color he had ever seen. It seemed like it would be a good day, granted by this beautiful sight. However, in the pit of his stomach, he felt sick. Something was wrong.
He turns his head, and the other side of the bed was empty. She usually wakes earlier than him, he’s not really a morning person. He sits up and slides off of the bed. Itʻs eerily quiet. At this time, he usually can hear the bustling of objects as she packs his lunch and makes his coffee, humming along or giggling to the words of a podcast or YouTube video. How odd?
He slowly begins his descent down the stairs, the sound of creaking footsteps leading him. Hm, he smells freshly made coffee sitting in the coffee pot, but no mug was out for him on the kitchen counter. He opens the fridge and his food is sitting in containers from the night before – leftover spaghetti. He calls out for her. No response. He calls out again to an empty home.
He spots her purse by the door, her phone on the table, and her keys on the wall still hanging. Something is wrong. Where could she have gone? Unsure, he opens the front door with the sun already a quarter of the way into the sky. He calls out again. No voices, except the sound of the the little brown birds tweeting from the tree on the front lawn. It seems the whole neighborhood has already left to start their day or are still sleeping.
He walks out of the house and around to the back yard. The pool is empty, aside from just a few flowers from the neighbors tree floating around in the water. He sees no sign of her having been there, and the back door is still locked. His concern is now growing. He walks back inside the front door and begins checking the guest bathroom and bedroom. Sometimes she sits in here if sheʻs on a work call leaning on the brown desk we picked up from her coworker. Nope. She’s not there. He calls out again and goes back upstairs to grab his phone. Now is the time to call 911. People donʻt just disappear. She wouldnʻt disappear.
He returns to the bedroom and retrieves his phone from his nightstand. A piece of paper was under it. He picks it up curiously, hopefully its a note. He must have missed it, distracted by the sunrise and discomfort for no apparent reason. His eyes are scanning the small torn piece of notebook paper and reads as his expression turns cold and angry:
I have no words for you. None. Here is all I have mustered up.
How could you? I gave you everything. I answered a phone call. You know the one that says ʻElectric Companyʻ? Yeah, that’s not the electric company.
I was good, wasnʻt I?
His heart is burning. The same way he burned her. Today he deserves that feeling, for how do you distinguish a heart that is fueled by kerosene?
Happy Curl, Happy Girl
Tales of a Curly Island Girl