2 Replies to “7.4.2013 Journal Prompt”

  1. (i don’t know what Gamr Day is… so instead, this was what came out in response to the prompt)

    Dressed to kill. Dressed up to the nines. Dressed up like a dog’s dinner or breakfast. It was all just a matter of taste or perspective and it didn’t matter which so long as she drew attention. And she did.

    Her friends said she looked like something, but they didn’t say what and they laughed and said they liked the colours and the shortness of her skirt and the way her top showed off her figure. The man at the ticket booth smiled at her and watched her as she walked away, watched her legs and the wavy that she walked, and he licked his dry lips and smiled again. And people that she passed on the way into the theatre kept turning their heads as though they had trouble believing what they saw.

    At the bar during the interval, a man bought her a drink. He said his name was Chris and he said he liked what she was wearing and he asked what she was doing afterwards. They went for a drink when the show was over and it was a quiet place with dark corners and she drank too much and when he put his hand under her skirt she let him and wasn’t that the plan all along?

    He lived local, he said. He had a flat on Caitlin Street, just above an all night store selling beans and beer and everything in between. He bought some wine and took her upstairs. Her phone kept ringing and she laughed too loudly and said it was nothing and she drank her wine too quickly.

    He was quick too, his hands pulling at her clothes and his kisses all spit and slur and he kept calling her name like she might not know who she was and he kept saying ‘fuck’ like he couldn’t believe his luck, which he couldn’t.

    Afterwards, he fell easy into sleep and she lay in his bed counting the cracks in the ceiling and biding her time. She could hear the sound of the till ringing in the shop below and the noise of customers stepping back out onto the street and talking too loudly for the time of night. Beside her Chris slept soundly.

    She crept from the bed and dressed in the other room. She could not find her pants, but it didn’t matter now. She took all the money from Chris’ wallet and his bank cards and his watch and a gold tie pin and his phone. Then she wrote her name on the wall, so small it would not be seen at first, just her first name, the name he’d been calling when he’d come; she didn’t know why she did that.

    She took the bottle with the left over wine in it too and she left the flat with the door wide open and she went home to her bastard husband and the smell of another man on her and it’d serve him right, she thought. She bought some pink iced doughnuts for breakfast and some milk and the man in the store watched as she walked away.

  2. Now this is indeed a journey with imagination! I enjoyed it not only for the writing (excellent, as usual) but also because I stared at this picture for so long without a spark of creativity.The lesson here, I think, is how constrained I am by my prejudices (spectator sports) which you admit to not having….Thanks for this.

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