This one inspired by the photo prompt from Picture It and Write. I was trying a completely different character from usual – self-absorbed, narcissist with a fixation on clothes I could never comprehend. Not sure how well I’ve done. It’s weird what fundamentals you find are basic to your own character while writing others.
Conway liked clothes. The sensation of fabrics, the fit of perfectly tailored outfits; the enhancement of his image through careful selection. Conway had a look for every occasion and for each a selection of fashionable attire. Today he wore a suit that reflected the themes of his sister’s, Candice, nuptials. Conway straightened his tie examining a job well done; given the dull attire he was forced to work with. He fancied himself the perfect Venus fly trap; Candice’s wedding wouldn’t be too boring. Then his older sister, Constance, messaged him.
Constance: Ex bailed. Need u 2 watch kids 4 ceremony.
Conway: No. Get mum 2.
Constance: u r only 1 not in ceremony. B gud uncle 4 once!
Conway: Not gud with kids.
Constance: keep them aliv + out of trouble
Conway’s personal hell broke loose the moment he entered the church. Co-opted into childrearing, he was at a loss to deal with a devious three year old while a baby left drool and spit-up over everything in range. By the end of the evening he ended up covered in conspicuous and offensive stains that not even the most skill dry-cleaner could remove.
That was the last time I ever heard from her.
“Leap of Faith” makes use of two writing prompts. The first is the above quote borrowed from ‘A Writer’s Path‘. The second photographic prompt is from ‘Picture It and Write‘. This is Part 1 of a series of 3 chapters, 2 yet to come.
“That was the last time I ever heard from her,” Eric mumbled into his drink. He drained the pint, signalling for another. Maybe the memory would fade with another. Years later images forced their way into his thoughts. Preventing invasions into his dreams took more alcohol than his liver could handle. All inebriation achieved was causal detachment from evocative memories.
“They called it suicide, you know?” In chaos surrounding him, no one listened. Eric chugged his beer. Another drunk drowning sorrows. “But it wasn’t. She looked so exuberant as she leapt over the falls; as if she would take flight.” Eric drained the glass. “’This is my faith,’; those were Elandra’s last words to me. And there I was, cut and bleeding from scrambling to stop her. All I could do was watch as she drifted away.” Eric stared at his empty glass; searching.
This one one was inspired by Visdare. I must say, I am making excellent progress on my procrastination skills here. This is not my novel!
Tenacious: know when to quit.
It was another job; another day. The model had lost track of the shoots he’d been involved in. He lived in the now and today’s location was an alley just off high street. Today’s theme: street fight.
“We need you right here.” The model dropped onto the rain soaked ground with no protest. Water immediately soaked through his pants.
“Good, can you raise your shoulders a bit more? That’s perfect!” There was that back twinge again.
“Look up to the right…Perfect!” Now the twinge was in his neck.
“Hold it! Why is there a God-damn hot dog vendor in my shoot?” !@$%ing !%?!
It took a full 15 minutes for the staff to get the scene back in order, but the model held his pose. He could no longer feel anything.