Ok, let's try this:
Grab the nearest book, turn to page 56, choose the 10th sentence, and use that as your writing prompt. (Should page 56 turn out to be a chapter heading with fewer than 10 sentences, jump forward ten pages at a time until you find a suitable sentence to start with.)
And please let us know what book you picked up and what your sentence was.
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My Response:
I picked up Les Miserables by Victor Hugo and found "Woe to him who does!"
I always hated when people would come up behind me, cover my eyes, and tell me to guess who. Seriously? If I know who it is, then the point is lost completely. If I don't know who it is, what reason do I have to stand around guessing while some possible serial killer holds me hostage?
As much as I hated it, it seemed to be a thing in the dorms. I'd walk out of the bathroom, hair in a towel and my toiletries bucket clutched in my hands, and someone would grab me from behind, "Guess who?!" Oh, I don't know, someone without enough tact to let me get dressed first?
I managed to survive my freshman year without decking anyone, but apparently that was more for lack of ability on my part than lack of desire. When I got home the summer between freshman and sophomore year, my mom put me in a self-defense class. She'd read an article about a girl who'd gotten raped and murdered on the local college campus, and she feared for my life. I had nothing better to do, and mom was paying. I spent two months learning how to use my elbows and knees and having my instructor tell me I was too timid. If slapping my attacker's balls would help me get away, I needed to be bold and slap, kick, or punch as needed.
I'd been back at school for two weeks when it happened. I was crossing the quad in front of the library. From the corner of my eye, I saw the tall guy in dark clothes turn my way as I passed him. Quick footsteps slapped the concrete behind me, and a pair of hands clamped down over my eyes.
They say, in an emergency, you do what you've been trained to do. I am no exception to the rule. I curled the fingers of my right hand into a fist, stretched my arm out in front of me, then bent at the elbow and slammed it backwards. Pain shot up my arm as my elbow contacted with ribs. The hands covering my eyes dropped away. I stepped forward with my left foot, dropping down into the fighting stance I'd practiced over the summer. My right arm continued in the series of motions it had been taught. With my eyes free, I turned and spotted my target behind me. I slammed the back of my right hand into the middle of my attacker's face with the ruthlessness I'd been taught.
Right into my ex-boyfriend's nose.
Oh my word, Spring. I needed that laugh today. Woe to him indeed. :)
ReplyDeleteI picked up The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis: "It is a thousand miles away from joy: it deadens, instead of sharpening, the intellect; and it excites no affection between those who practice is..."
ReplyDeleteSince it is so randomly fitting, I'm just going to share a snippet of my NaNo:
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Our fingers and toes were wrinkled little prunes when we finally slipped out of the hot tub. “Even though I’ve had enough water for the day, I think I’d better go wash my hair and get myself cleaned up for dinner tonight,” I sighed, then added with a mischievous grin, “Would you like to join me?”
Cole smiled back, “The things I’d like to do aren’t always in my best interest. I’ll leave you to your business. I need to cool off before my sisters get here.”
“Suit yourself.”
I shut the bathroom door behind me- the bathroom that Cole had used as a teenager after his father had retired and relocated the family here. I turned the water to lukewarm and set about the work of stripping off my bikini. Suddenly I remembered that I had left my toiletries bag in the backseat of the car, so I wrapped up in a towel and stepped out of the bathroom.
“Cole?” I shouted. There was no answer. “Cole?” I asked again. I tiptoed down the hall, and spotted him sitting on the sofa. He was staring at the screen of our laptop, headphones in his ears. That’s why he hadn’t heard me.
Still feeling playful, I decided to sneak up behind and startle him. Holding my towel tight with one hand, I squatted down and crawled along the wall until I was directly behind him, and slowly began to rise.
As it turns out, I was the one who was startled. Nothing in this world could have prepared me to see what he was watching on the computer. Having never been a fan of crude or sexually explicit movies, the exposure I’d received to such things over my short life had been very limited. I suppose you could say I was sheltered. What Cole was watching was so far outside my realm of comprehension, I instantly felt sick. It was too much for me, and I looked away in shame.