"Don't you want to look sophisticated and elegant?"

"Don't you want to look sophisticated and elegant?"
Why, yes, yes she does. Never mind that her eyes bulge while her belly becomes concave. Never mind that her wrists can no longer support the bracelets they pile on. Her ears sag the bigger the diamonds become. Precious stones swell atop her shrinking body. The pointier her heels, the pointier her hips, the sharper her shoulder blades. She becomes a weapon she is too weak to employ.

They prefer her this way: sharp, small, ineffective. She is too weak for her own words, but her body screams,

"I HAVE CONQUERED NEED! MY VIRTUE IS IN VERSACE! WON'T YOU BE LIKE ME?!"

The only look she can muster is one of haunted longing. They plaster Parisian clothing labels over her pallid face.

She has won. But she is lost.

Write a Scene Using Only Dialogue

"What do I do? He's been there all day."
"Well...I suppose we could start making faces at him until he's uncomfortable."
"You don't know this guy...nothing makes him uncomfortable. I once seated him next to my creepy uncle at a dinner party, by the end of the night they were best friends!"
"Wait, your Uncle Bob? The guy who may or may not have set up the cameras in the tanning booths?"
"Yeah, that's the one. I forgot about that incident. I usually associate him with the peep holes he put in the dressing rooms at Nordstrom's."
"Wait...the one downtown? Not the Nordstrom Rack, but the real one?"
"Yeah, like, last year."
"Oh. My cousin works security there and told me about that. I didn't know that was your uncle."
"Yeah, probably was. I mean, I don't want to credit him with being the ONLY guy to think to do that in the past, say, year, but it probably was him."
"Huh. That is pretty creepy."
"Oh my gosh. He is still there. I don't know what to do. I want to go, but I don't want to interrupt his game. He's been talking to that girl forever though."
"Can't they just exchange numbers like normal people?"
"I have no idea. But I know the minute I walk over there, that girl is going to think I'm his girlfriend, and get weird and not talk to him anymore. He's gotten angry with me for that before."
"What a dumb situation. Can't more girls have more confidence?"
"I know, I know. Hey! Why don't you text him? And then he'll have his phone out, and then maybe that will prompt him to get her number while he's got his phone out!"
"Brilliant. Okay. Text sent!"
"What is that smell? Is that smoke?"
"Um...Yeah. I think so. Is Powell's on fire?"
"Oh! I think it's just a new guy trying to burn old coffee grounds. Gross."
"Ah. Okay, it looks like he's getting her number! Oh! And he just noticed us here. Awesome."
"Oh my gosh. Is that Creepy Unble Bob?"
"Uh...yeah. I think so."
"Wait, why is he wrapping his arm around Babe Chick?"
"Haha! Maybe they met at Nordstroms?"
"Ha! Or maybe the tanning place, she is tan in January."
"Haha! Aw, Ed looks so disappointed."
"Poor guy. But, hey, at least we aren't going to miss the movie."
"Just make sure Creepy Uncle Bob doesn't spot us. This isn't my most modest outfit."

Last Chapter of Faux Novel

3 Star Motel

Prompt: Write the last chapter to a novel you have no intention of ever starting.

(#11 http://www.carrieelle.com/2013/05/25-writing-prompts.html)

He sat there reviewing it all. Perhaps it had not been worth it. Regardless, and more importantly, it had happened. Instead of doing nothing, he had done something. He scratched his chin, which was not unlike sandpaper, and set fire to the note. There was no need to save it. The cold cruelty of those words, scrawled in elegant script, would be with him forever.

Out of all of the heartache, this would be the worst. He found a kind of comfort in that. He was free to love again, with abandon, knowing he had endured the purest of pain imaginable, and had broken through to the other side. 

He was free in a way she never would be, for the spider is always entranced by its own web.

Letter to My Unborn Child

This image seemed appropriate for a little girl?

Prompt:  Write a letter to your unborn child. It’s okay if you don’t have children, don’t want children, or are done having children – that might make it more interesting. 

(#5 http://www.carrieelle.com/2013/05/25-writing-prompts.html)

Dearest Cara Mel,

First off, I am so so sorry that we named you this. I told Daddy that if we were to accidentally conceive, and the child were a girl, we’d have to name her Cara Mel. This was motivation for the vasectomy. But, looks like Daddy was a bit dishonest about that one.

Oh, well. That’s in the past.

Sweetheart, you stay in there as long as possible. Maybe they’ll cut you out when you’re 20. This world is difficult for anyone under drinking age. Hell, it’s difficult after; you just get used to it. And drink and laugh with your friends getting over it.

I fear you’ll be a beauty. That’s no fun. Yeah, yeah, you’ll get invited to parties and meet people in power who are doing awesome things. But you’ll feel like an alien everywhere you go. Constantly looking behind you to see WHAT ARE THEY STARING AT? Sweetie, they’ll be staring at you. But do not let your beauty get to your head! It’s all a goofy mix of genes.

I pray you’ll be kind, compassionate, and strong. I pray you’ll find joy in learning like I did, and find the thing you love and let it kill you. It’s worth it, I promise. And I promise I’ll still love you even if the thing you love is sports, or coding, or glow worms.

Okay, I’ll probably love you even more if it’s glow worms. Those things are neat!

I hope you have a big, squishy heart. I hope you get your heart broken daily. That’s the price for living a real life. Smile at strangers, but not the creepy ones. It’s better to be hurt than to hurt. It’s better to give it all and get nothing than to just sit there like a lump atop all the gold that is in you.

DO NOT SIT LIKE A LUMP ATOP ALL THE GOLD THAT IS IN YOU. God did not bless you to watch you count your coins! He blessed you so you, too, would be a blessing.

And sweetheart, you are such a blessing. I just know it.

Love,

Mommy