April 20, 2013: Prompt #66

Use of this line (Dialogue):

“You are still responsible for her death. Doesn’t that bother you a little?”


Use of this line (Dialogue):

“Go see him. Tell him you hate him or you love him, I don’t care. Tell him how you feel and do it for all of us who wish we could.”


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How the Story Ends

Whenever the phone rang in the middle of the night, I thought it was the authorities calling to tell me that my sister was dead.

Even after the last apologetic mutterings of the late-night telemarketers faded away into static I would find myself lying awake in bed and staring up at the ceiling, wondering who would come knocking on the door in the morning. My sister never brought her keys with her; she was always forgetting them, leaving them abandoned in the strangest places - the top shelf of the freezer next to a carton of vanilla ice cream with the lid missing; buried in her top dresser drawer beneath a heap of push-up bras and lacy socks; shoved underneath the swimsuit edition of “Sports Illustrated” that held a permanent position under her mattress.

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Leaving Fingerprints - Prompt Six: “I kept the appointment in New York that I told you I cancelled.”

Extremely well written!  Passionate and heart-strings were pulled.  This is a must read!!


She dreaded this. She wanted to be back in her car, driving far away from him. Away from the torrid looks, the hate drenched spewing, the fists. All the time, those bruised, bulbous knuckles always raining down against her body. She remembered the day she couldn’t go see her Dad in the hospital, her wounds were so extreme that she couldn’t get out of bed. Had to call in sick for work for weeks until they finally had to let her go.

But she had to. She had to get outside and look at him and stand where he was and say what she had to say. She had to wipe it all clean. Had to face him before she went forward. Had to stand on the legs he had left bruises on countless times, and then told her to wear pants so that no one would see. Talk to him with the throat that so many times, he’d had his mammoth hands wrapped around, squeezing the life out of her limp body before letting go at that very last possible moment, allowing her to live for one more day to repeat the terror tomorrow. She had to tell him, all the things she had wanted to for all those years but had stifled, the pillow of his oppression snuffing out her dreams and ambitions for anything better than this, this waking nightmare with no clear end on the horizon.

This was the end, though. This was the series finale to a show she had wished to be cancelled for too long. So, she stood where she stood, looking where she looked. She took in a deep breath, filling herself up with a bravery she didn’t truly understand, and began to speak.

“I kept the appointment in New York that I told you I cancelled,” She muttered, her conviction weak, her words unresolved and trembling. She winced, waiting for the strike, holding in that immaculate fear as the moment passed, anticipating the violence that never came.

The breath came back, and she sallied forth.

“And they want me. They really want me. They think that I’m fantastic. Okay, maybe they didn’t use that word. The told me I had ‘raw potential’, which I can work with. And apparently, they can work with it too, thank God. Most of my scholarships should get me through the next few years. If I’m smart about things, I should come out of this with as little debt as possible. They’re being super understanding about me not being able to start right away, getting things in order here before I make the move. They’re good people. Don’t know what I did to deserve their kindness…" 

Her words veered off, her voice lingering on the phrase of the precipice, looking down at the hollow ground so far beneath her. She wiped an errant tear from her scarred cheek and then tossed it away like so many others. But this one was different. This one had a sense of finality to it.

She opened her eyes wide, suddenly full of a furious passion that she hadn’t known since she first sat down at a piano all those years ago. And she started speaking, her words striking like musical notes, slamming against the keys as if her life depended on it. She then realized that it did.

"I just wanted to say, fuck you,” She said. “I hate you for what you did. And that what you did to me was not a good thing, and I’m not happy it happened, but I won’t take away nothing from it. I won’t take away that I was a piece of shit, despite what you told me every day. I’ll take away that I can walk through Hell and not be burned. That’s what you helped me realize. But I will never thank you for it.

"I don’t hate you. Hating you would give you too much satisfaction. It gives you too much power over me. So, I will reflect upon you, and I will let you go. I will bury you, once and for all. Goodbye.”

It wasn’t eloquent. It wasn’t rehearsed. But it was her. It was her in all her glory, without him on her shoulder.

She nodded her head, and turned away from the gravestone, never to see him again.

A Big Thank You!

I want to say a Huge Thank You to all of you who have started following this blog!  At the time of this post I have 45 followers!  That is more than I have on my blog where my own poetry and fiction pieces are kept.

So again a Big Thank You!

Here is an Extra Prompt:

Dialogue:  “You’re praying on the things I love and then using them against me!  You are a manipulator!”

Questions to help your writing:  Does the manipulation end?  If so, how?  If not, what happens?  What are the things the character loves?  How are these things being used against the character?

Use the tag - #wheelofprompts - so I can read your work

You can also submit your pieces to me via the “Submit” button

If you have questions or are curious about something, please use the “Ask”

Have Fun!


Hello Fellow Followers!

I am very sorry for my absence. I just started a new job this past week and I’m working different hours. Starting Monday, June 3, I will begin my regular work schedule; however, I do not know exactly when I will be posting prompts on a consist basis again. I need to get adjusted to my new hours and job.

So please bear with me as I get acclimated to my new schedule.

Thank you for your understanding.

From: January 29, 2013: Prompt #8

Quite an interesting read.  Good use of the prompt!


Use of this line:

“He reaches into her and his hand pushes right through her body like a hologram.”


“Are you sure you wish to do this, Miss Graham?” Haimyth gives Evelyn a sideways glance as he plucks the tips of his glove’s fingers to loosen their grip on his left hand. “I will not ask again, so I would advise you to be sure in your decision.” Evelyn wrings her hands for a moment, her downcast eyes staring at the ratty, navy carpet of the praghae’s cramped apartment as her mind runs checks of her thoughts in a flyby manner. She should say “never mind” or “I’ll pass actually, thanks” with the risks that come involved with viewing memories, but what other options does she have to choose? Every detail, right down to the gritty soil between the memory owner’s fingers, is no different than when the moment was lived. What better way to learn what one wishes to know?

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