This week’s prompt is a free write, so take the line below and run with it. It doesn’t have to turn into anything, just let the words flow and see where they go.
Continue this opening sentence:
That was a weird place for a…
Write as much or as little as you’d like.
Share in the comments!
That was a weird place for an alien. LunarShepherd normally stayed on the forums and IRC chat rooms, not on Facebook. I kept staring at the computer screen. Adolf Wolff had requested friendship and the only person I knew with that silly dog avatar was LunarShepherd. Okay, I didn't know for sure he was an alien, but what human would be named "Adolf" in 2032? Plus, his hacking skills were way beyond what any teenager should have. Even ILuvPix's expert hacking skills couldn't pin him down, and she hacked Plaintrail studios on a regular basis.
ReplyDeleteMy curser hovered over the "Confirm" button. What could it hurt to be his friend? For all I knew, he'd hacked into my account already. I clicked the button, then quickly went to his profile. Sure enough, I recognized most of the people as our friends from IRC chat. No one else with a last name of "Wolff" was his friend, though he did have a few friends from Germany, his supposed home country. I went to their profiles. None of them were friends with each other. LunarShepherd had to be an alien.
It was just my rotten luck. The first person I fell in love with had to be an online friend who was most likely an alien.
That was a weird place for a latte. Cloe stopped walking to stare at the biodegradable cup with wisps of steam still curling from the top. Most people put flowers or pictures on the corners of gravestones, not pumpkin-spice lattes with extra whipped cream.
ReplyDeleteA mocking bird landed on a nearby monument that wanted to be the Washington Memorial but didn't meet the height requirement or location. The bird puffed out its chest and trilled smugly.
"If its a vampire's grave, their drink's going to be cold by the time they get up for it," Cloe observed. Of course, most vampires don't drink... latte.
A mower cut off. Cloe had not even been aware of the noise until it stopped. Wood chips crunched. Cloe glanced up and saw the caretaker coming up the path. He smiled sheepishly and snagged the latte.
"Sorry about that," he muttered. "It's a thirsty job."
That was a weird place for a wedding, but it shouldn’t surprise me when I'm talking about my sentimental sister. Of course she would want to wed Harvey Baker at the place she first met him. No matter how ridiculous it would look.
ReplyDeleteI clasped my bouquet of white and red roses tighter and tried not to breathe. The organ player struck the chords of the wedding march with much gusto. He had to, otherwise; the traffic on the freeway would drown the music out.
I made my way across the parking lot. Someone had dropped rose petals all the way up to the pulpit. Nice touch. Really beautified the surroundings.
Not.
Okay, so my sarcasm was uncalled for, but I felt a bit irritable. Wearing this beautiful gown, upswept do and stilettos was nothing short of a criminal waste in a place like this.
I reached the pulpit and stepped to the side to wait for the bride. The long train of her gown dragged over the asphalt. I wanted to shake my head at the absurdity, but instead I looked at my sister’s face.
She was an angel wreathed in smiles. She was a princess clothed in radiance. She was the picture of happiness.
It brought tears to my eyes. That and the strong smell of gasoline. But it didn’t matter anymore, my sister deserved to have her wedding wherever it would make her happiest.
And if the place happened to be a Shell gas station…well, then, that was fine with this gal.