Friday, June 3, 2011

An easy tell ...

Prompt for this week: Write about what your character wants most. I tried to be obvious and not obvious at the same time. Constructive criticism is welcome.

I watched as she sat there, twirling her hair in her hand. Twisting and turning the strands and thinking.

She looked down at the letters in front of her. I watched her bite her lip, an instant tell. Did she even know she did that? Was I the only one who knew? She gnawed on it slowly. Intently. I watched as she leaned forward, placing tile after tile on the unsteady board.

"Prithy?" She nodded. "That is so not a word."

"It is, too."

"In what language?" She shrugged. I knew I had her. "It's so not a word, Em."

"Oh, shut up. It's better than your last attempt."

"Hey, Glamazon is too a word. I see it all the time!"

"On what? America's Next Top Model?" she giggled, a small snort escaping.

"Did you just snort?"
No way, she really did. G-d, how I missed that sound. "You did, HA! You snorted. Hilarious. I've missed hearing that." We made eye contact and she seemed to force herself to look away. Did I really just say that? Yikes. Dumb. Really dumb. "Sorry." She blushed. I might miss that even more.

Okay, getting myself together. Focus back on the game.

She took a small sip of the wine next to her. Placed the glass back down slowly. I watched her put her hand to her throat, feeling the burn. I knew red wasn't her choice, but it was all we had.

"You alright?" She nodded. "You sure?" Another nod. Maybe a half-nod. She jumped up, startled, nearly knocking the board over.

"I'll be --" she took off to the bathroom.

**He stands, waiting. Trying not to listen, but listening at the same time. Should he go to her? Should he stay where he stands? What a fool. What a fool he's been. He wants to run to her. Check on her. Hold her hair if she needs him to. But it's not his place now. And he's lost. But there's nobody else here. What should he do?

I walk slowly, stopping to stand outside the bathroom door. "Em?" Is she crying?

Weeping. It sounds like weeping."Em, what happened? Can I come in?" More crying. "I'm coming in." I push the door gently, remembering that she might be right behind it. She is. I manage to squeeze through and sit down next to her. "What's wrong? What happened?" I hear my own voice whisper, softly.

She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. She's crying, and she's beautiful. She's so beautiful, even when she cries. She puts her hand to her mouth again. I shift out of the way. I hold her hair back. Her soft and beautiful hair. I sense nothing else but the need for me to be here, right now, with her.

My mind is racing ... Whatever it is I'll help her through it. If she's sick, I'll be here. I'll find a way. Whoever he is, he's gone. I want him gone. What's happening here? What has he done to her? What is wrong? Is she sick?

I can't sit still, but there is nowhere for me to go. She leans back, her head resting on my lap. Her eyes closed. I wipe a tear from her face. Gently. Slowly.

God, she is so beautiful.

She opens her eyes. A small smile. Takes my hand.

I am with Emmalyn now, and that is the only place I want to be.

This story jumps around a bit, but you can find some more entries by checking out: this link.


  1. I've never read anything you've written like this before. Andrea, wow!!! I love this!

  2. I must know: What happened to her?! To them?!

    I love the setting, the Scrabble, the wine. Brought me right in!

  3. I will be going to reread. This is so good. His concern and reserve. The gentleness.

  4. I think it glows great and was easy to read. That is important. It was beautiful. I really liked it.


Comments are like air to a writer.

So please - say something - help me BREATHE!