Writing | Caroline Andrus

Each week I read a writing prompt and write the first thing that pops into my head.

You, a grown adult, are afraid of the dark.

Explain why this is a legitimate concern, so your friends won’t laugh at you.

Look, I know what you’re thinking. Someone in their thirties shouldn’t be afraid of the dark. But I am, and you should be too. This is no laughing matter. You know what’s out there in the dark? Neither do I. It’s dark.

Have you ever tried to find your way to the bathroom in the dark? I bet you ran into a door, a wall, or the corner of a dresser. That wouldn’t happen in the light.

You know what the darkness hides? Shadows. I’ve seen Doctor Who. I know to count the shadows. If the shadows get me, I’m a goner. No thank you.

Just about every scary movie I’ve seen has any number of reasons to be terrified of the dark. Monsters, demons, psychopathic killers with knives or chainsaws. If it were light, we would have seen them coming.

I read an article recently. It talked about how like, these rats were forced to smell something, then they were given a shock of electricity. They soon learned to associate that smell with pain, and they were afraid. They were then bred, and you know what? Their offspring would smell the scent that their parent was trained to fear, and they were afraid. That’s right, having never been shocked themselves, their DNA they inherited from their parent was changed so that they were afraid of that smell. I’m pretty sure everyone is actually afraid of the dark. It’s a primal fear. From when we lived in caves. Or ran from dinosaurs. Or whatever. Sabertooth Tigers probably hid in the dark. And they’re scary as hell.

So if you say you’re not afraid of the dark, you’re probably lying.

Because you should be.

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!

Image courtesy of Dreamstime.com

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.