For Christmas my mother-in-law bought me a book of writing prompts. Yay!
I’m going to try something new in 2017.
I’m going to attempt to do at least one writing prompt per week, then share it here in a little segment I’m calling Sunday Scribbles.
I say attempt, because I work EVERY Sunday and actually don’t even get to look at my computer all weekend, so I’ll have to be good about setting these posts up earlier in the week. Like today. It’s Wednesday as I get this post ready, and it was Tuesday (my birthday!) when I wrote this little ditty.
Are you a fan of writing prompts?
Share your favorites in the comments!
A houseplant is dying.
Tell it why it needs to live.
You can’t die.
I stare at the miserable looking orchid in the pot before me.
Where once there were a plethora of little pink petals, all lined up in a row, as if begging to be first in line for attention, there are now only two pathetic, slightly brown, silky, misshapen circles.
I watch as one petal gives up, falling feather soft into the soil at its base.
Make that one petal, still clinging for life.
I carefully pour just a little more water onto the soil, hoping a little moisture is all that will be needed to miraculously bring the once glorious houseplant to life.
I remember when the orchid first came into my possession. It was a gift from the love of my life. But like the plant, that love has also withered, as if his presence had been the only thing keeping it alive.
I absently wipe a stray tear that has found its way down my cheek.
I will not cry.
I will not give up.
I will the plant to live. If you survive, maybe he will to.
Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since the plant began dying. Two weeks since the accident that left him at the edge of deaths door.
The plant grows weaker every day in the pot in my small apartment, while he grows weaker in a bed in the ICU.
Live, I will the plant. If you live, so will he.
I stare at the nearly empty stem, as if daring it to do something.
The last petal falls, and then the phone rings.