A new story. Bittersweet this time. The prompt was “freedom.”
I’ve been swamped with schoolwork, but it didn’t feel right to me to write about being free from school. As inspiring as a story about a graduation after years of struggle would be, it just didn’t fit in my mind. And, of course, look around you. I wasn’t going to write about patriotic freedom either.
So I found some other inspiration.
She never thought she’d be okay again.
She’d grown accustomed to his warmth, his lingering presence. Sleeping alone was foreign to her, and she got no rest the first and second nights.
But on the third, she found she was already starting to spread out as she slept instead of sticking to the left side, her side.
The whole bed was her side now.
It wasn’t what she expected. It certainly wasn’t what she wanted. But she had always prided herself on her tenacity and drive to work with what she had. She made her own destiny.
Slowly happy again.
©2018 Heather Stephens
The prompt was bath.
Candlelight glimmering. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back to rest against the back of the copper tub.
He lifts the heavy bowl of warm water and tips it over her head, careful to make sure the water flows over her long, lustrous hair instead of over her face.
He runs his hands through each lock, squeezing the lavender-smelling suds out of it. The water gleams with soothing, scented oils.
She opens her brown eyes, meeting his black ones. He doesn’t smile; neither does she. There is no need for it.
They know to whom they each belong.
©2018 Heather Stephens
I couldn’t write for a long time. I could blame NaNoWriMo, but I didn’t finish that either. A more accurate excuse would be the election. It broke my heart and anxiety over the nuclear arms race that is coming has rendered me virtually immobile. But I am surrounded by people who claim that while things look pretty bad, there is hope. Their strength has melted the ice of fear that has gripped my heart for the last month and a half.
This week’s prompt was “Reality”.
The truth of it? She didn’t want to know where her girlfriend had been for three days. She’d do this—start a fight for no logical reason and then disappear for a few hours. This time she’d been gone long enough for her partner to be worried. But there was no apology when she returned. There was no reconciliation. Just more excuses.
Someday, she’d find the courage to make her own life away from the perils of loving a woman so broken. She couldn’t find the strength to do it now. Too many bad habits barring the path to freedom.
© 2016 Heather Stephens