#onepromptaday

[didutryitonwumbo]

"Write a quick love story. The story must end badly."

leaving it off here, because I’m not really into it and don’t feel like continuing. might pick it up again later or tomorrow just to get an ending to it.

~ niet

Brandon gripped his hot coffee with both hands as he waited outside on the sidewalk. Snow fell in handfuls it seemed, New York skyscrapers peeking out from under a thick blanket of snow. His breath came out in swirls as he shuffled from foot to foot.

"Fuck," he murmured, blowing on his fingertips and tucking them in to his coffee cup. Where is she? he wondered, looking up and down the sidewalk. Very few people were out in this weather, and even less out on the streets. Brandon didn't see anyone coming toward the little coffee shop where he was standing. He let out a long sigh. He had only been waiting a few minutes, but this woman was pretty punctual, and the bitter wind bit into his exposed skin.

The doors opened beside him, letting out a rush of warm air as a customer left down the sidewalk. Brandon moved a bit closer, tapping his snow-covered boots against the building, thinking. He felt ridiculous waiting here.

Brandon shrugged and shook his head, pulling the door open and returning to the coffee shop's warmth. He slunk over to a booth by the window, pulling off his beanie and smoothing his dark hair back in place. Then - his chest tightened - there she was, stomping through the snow right towards him - past his window and towards the coffee shop doors. Brandon grinned and almost hiccupped with excitement. He forced himself to stare out the window, stealing a glance towards her billowing peacoat as she raced inside. The door shut with a loud snap as the wind picked up outside.

"Oops," the woman bit her lip, and quickly went to place her order.

How long have I been seeing her here? Brandon asked himself, staring at her while she spoke to the barista. Two years. Two and a half? Brandon felt some kind of connection with this woman, but they had never spoken. Silent glances, smiles, gigglges and blushing. Brandon supposed she had a boyfriend, or was married. Or maybe she wasn't, Brandon could never work up the nerve to ask.

She turned around, cup and muffin in hand, searching. The shop was nearly empty, and she eyed a spot next to Brandon for a moment. Brandon stared at his cup, picking at the seam a bit. The woman sat at a table in direct line of him, across the shop. Brandon could barely take it any longer. Seeing this woman every day at this shop, it drove him nuts. There was something about her, a beautiful sadness, that drew him in. When she comes to the shop, Brandon had figured, it was her time to work. Her personal work. From what he had seen over the the past two years, she was an amateur writer and painter. Brandon had watched her finish a few paintings in the shop and was very impressed.

Brandon sipped his coffee, and watched as the woman pulled out her notebook and pen, and set up her laptop. She was writing today. Brandon tried to brainstorm what she could be writing about.

Days and days passed like this for Brandon; longing to get to know this woman he had no hopes of speaking to. He felt so captured when he saw her, words just didn't seem to work. Brandon stopped asking his friends about this situation, they all said the same - "Go talk to her," "Just give her your number!" Brandon was generally a fairly confident and outgoing man, but she seemed to sap that right out of him.

One Sunday, Brandon mustered up the courage to chat with her. Brandon bumped into her on purpose, spilling a very hot coffee all over himself (for which he was exceedingly grateful).

"Oh!"

"Oh, jeez - I am - ow! - so sorry!" Brandon backed up, trying to blink away the pain of burning coffee seeping through his sweater.

"Oh! Oh!" the woman looked around frantically for napkins, randomly slapping them on Brandon's chest. "Oh, no, oh sheesh, are you alright? Are you burnt?" she bit her lip as she dabbed around to clean up the mess, Brandon nearly knocking heads with her as he tried to help.

"No, no, I'm okay, aah, I didn't mean to bump into you."

"It's fine, don't worry, I'm a clumsy ass, I'm always in the way."

Brandon stood straight and watched her throw out the napkins, checking her bag and making sure nothing spilled into her supplies.

"Did I ruin anything?" Brandon asked nervously.

"No, no," she leafed through her notebook and sketches, kind of mumbling to herself as she double checked. "No, everything's fine, thank you." She flashed a nervous, quirky smile with dimples, and a little wave as she left the coffee shop.

Brandon was left with a queasy stomach and a fuzzy mind, replaying the whole scene.

A week went by before Brandon had another interaction with her. Very much to his surprise, while at the coffee shop, sitting in his booth and looking at the street, the woman came and sat at the table next to him. Brandon stiffened, sitting up some but not looking away from the window. He could see in his peripherals as she set up her laptop and sat with her back towards him. Noticing this, Brandon turned his head. He could see right to her screen. Brandon contemplated, she was just a little too far though, her text unreadable. Brandon twirled the bottom of his coffee cup around the table. He took a big sip from it before standing up. Hands shaky and with a hitched breath, Brandon walked over to her.

"Good evening," Brandon nearly stuttered, and didn't give himself a chance to back away - "I'm the guy who ran you over last week. I've seen you here for a while. I was just wondering what you do. I mean," he hesitated now, trying to fix his tone. "I mean, I see you work on a lot of stuff here. I've seen your paintings, they're incredible. I was just curious what other kind of stuff you did?"

"Oh," that seemed to be one of her favorite words. The woman responded as if she never expected someone to come and talk to her. She blinked absently for a minute, then nodded. "Yea, thank you, they're not that good," she mumbled. "Uhm, I just do some writing. It's hard at my apartment, it's iunno, too small. So I come here because the windows help me feel open." She laughed nervously. "Thaaatt sounds dumb, okay. Well yea, I write some stories, I'm a freelance editor too so I help other people with their works."

Brandon was lost in her wistful voice.

"That's awesome," was all he could muster.

"Yea," the woman replied.

"Ah, uhm," he cleared his throat. "I'm Brandon, by the way." He held out his hand. She shook it, but her phone rang before she could say anything and she pulled away.

"Hello?" She turned away from Brandon. The conversation was quiet, but strained. It was over quickly and the woman grabbed her things. Brandon moved out of her way. "It was nice to meet you Brandon," she paused and smiled at him, and Brandon felt that stir in the pit of his stomach again. He smiled back, feeling his chest tighten and heart pound. The woman broke gaze and stood. "I have to leave, maybe I'll see you again."

"Sure," Brandon held his hand out, letting her walk by. She opened the door and was out, the bitter cold seeping in the shop. "Sorry, what's - ?" The door snapped shut and Brandon was left alone. Shit, what's her name? he chewed on his lip for a moment, tapping on the table where she sat before plopping down. "Damn." Brandon turned a napkin over and, surprised, found messy writing scrawled across it.

"Help."

Underneath was a number. Brandon frowned, confused, and then typed the number into his phone - sending a text message to the number.

[didutryitonwumbo]

Give me a scene to write.

So to start off this writing a prompt every day (or attempting to) I asked a good friend to give me a situation. He replied with this: “Two people going on a jog through a state park wood trail and they encounter dead floating pig bodies.” In my defense, because this is terrible, I have struggled with writing pretty much anything since my mom passed away. It’s like that part of me died too. I’m doing now what I can to take that part of me back.

~ niet

“So I told her, you know, sometimes things aren’t worth fixing!”

“Exactly. She needs to move on with that job.”

The conversation drifted in and out as the two women jogged. It was early yet, the morning chill giving both of them goosebumps, and it had rained during the night, leaving the dirt path soggy with the Autumn leaves. This was the same path Jan and Brianna always took for their morning jogs - it was their favorite trail through the state park, six miles long with a beautiful view of the river at the halfway point.

The chit-chat eventually died as the women got closer to the bend and the shimmering water of the river twinkled through the protective railings, silence in the air except for the footfalls of Jan and Brianna.

Brianna slowed to a walk, putting her hands over her head and holding opposite elbows as she took a breather. Jan slowed her pace as well, looking around.

“Wonder where the birds are at,” Jan commented absently, stretching her calves and hamstrings out. “It’s pretty quiet.”

“Well it is getting colder, they probably left already,” Brianna shrugged.

“Mm, I guess.” Jan leaned against the railing, looking out over the water and spotting something floating a ways out. “Hm? Bri.” Brianna looked over, shielding her eyes from the rising sun.

“You see that?”

“No.”

“Right th - oh there’s another,” Jan squinted, then regarded the low-sloping bank on the other side of the railing. Jan hopped over, sliding in the mud before catching a grip.

“Come on..” Brianna sighed - obviously this wasn’t new for Jan - and she followed her over the railing. Carefully they trudged down the bank til the river lapped at their feet.

The women stood beside each other and gazed out at the floating objects.

“Is that.. is that a body?”

“It doesn’t really look right though does it?” Brianna asked nervously, feeling her stomach turn.

“I don’t think it’s a body.”

“Oh, no,” Brianna nodded upriver where another bobbing lump was floating, much closer. Brianna stepped back as the slow moving mass moved closer to shore.

“It’s a pig…”

“What the hell…” Brianna covered her mouth as the carcass hit the muddy shore.

“Are those pigs too?” Jan shielded her eyes again towards the masses gliding downstream about halfway out. “That is really creepy.”

Jan took the initiative and, sliding with each step, made her way back to the trail and hopped over the railing again. Brianna struggled to keep up with her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna head up river.”

“For what? You have no idea where they came from.” Brianna stopped following her friend. “We should call the police. This needs to be investigated in case those.. bodies are contaminating any kind of water supply? What if they’ve been rotting in the river for days?”

“I’m pretty sure the town’s water isn’t coming from this river,” Jan rolled her eyes, but pulled her phone out anyway. “Maybe we should let someone know…”

Before she could hit ‘Call,’ however, there suddenly was chaos near the river bank. Jan and Brianna nearly jumped out of their skin, rushing to the railing to look down the slope where pig carcass #3 had found land. To their surprise (and disgust), the pig was thrashing about, squealing at the top of its lungs. It was covered in mud, blood and pus seeping out of old gashes and stab wounds across its head and shoulders. One eyeball was missing from its socket, the optic nerve sticking along its snout like wet string.

Brianna turned, but barely missed her own feet as her light breakfast decided it wanted to come back up.