Although the Edmond family followed the town norms and attended church meetings, they didn’t follow its misguided notions of sin and family. They once followed Anne Hutchinson’s teachings until she and her family were turned away and shunned from the Massachusetts Bay Colony. However, in private, they still followed her instruction and practiced their beliefs away from the prying eyes of their neighbors. They did not want their family to become victims of the holy wrath of the misguided townfolk.
Before her sixteenth birthday, Rachel began having dreams that foretold of the future. At first, she kept her visions to herself. She did not want to burden her parents, and she knew what would happen if the people in town ever discovered this knowledge.
She knew Mr. Winters would fall into the ice, and the men in town would have to amputate his frostbitten toes. She knew her friend Charity would marry Josiah Winslow eight months before he even asked to come courting. Often, she would be ready for visitors in advance of their calls and make remedies for townsfolk before they even became ill. In time, her mother, Prudence, began noticing the changes in her daughter. She would find her child in the garden picking elderflower, yarrow, or milk thistle to make teas and tinctures just hours before women would come seeking remedies for their children or husbands.
Rachel would bake extra bread or cook extra portions for evening meals as if she knew guests would be stopping to visit. Then, one evening, Prudence began asking questions.
“Mama, I know things before they happen,” Rachel whispered to her mother, afraid to even say it out loud.
“What do you mean?” The mother questioned.
Rachel explained what she dreamt. Mr. Winter’s accident. Unexpected guests and women who needed potions for their families. She even told her about Charity, even though Charity and Josiah never even spoke to one another.
Prudence tried rationalizing each occurrence, but she saw Rachel’s countenance fall.
“Mama, tonight before our evening meal, Mrs. Baker will arrive asking for tea to stop Sarah’s fever.”
“Do you have the ingredients ready?”
“Yes, Mama,” Rachel replied, “I picked the herbs this morning.”
Prudence could not sit still for the rest of the day. What if her daughter could foresee the future? No one could ever know, for if word spread, Rachel could face an uncertain, frightening future. She wondered if she should talk to Samuel but decided to wait until after the evening meal. Mrs. Baker would most likely not even stop by their home.
Prudence kept busy and told Rachel she would milk that evening. She had to stay active. Her conversation with Rachel continually played over and over, and the mother became worried. Leaving the barn, Prudence carried the bucket of warm milk toward the house. As she entered the gate, she noticed a woman hurrying up the drive. Suddenly, she dropped the bucket of milk and covered her face in her hands, for it was Mrs. Baker coming to the house. Prudence ran to meet the woman, not quite believing that the woman had appeared.
“How do you fare, Mistress Edmonds. Is Rachel home? My Sarah is not feeling well, and I could use some of her elderberry tea and some yarrow to help my girl. I am afraid she has a bit of a fever.”
Prudence stood frozen, not speaking.
“Are you well, Mistress Edmonds?” the woman asked.
Thankfully, Rachel appeared and invited the woman into their home.
“Rachel, my dear, I need some of your special tea. My Sarah has a fever.”
“Of course, Mrs. Baker. Let me gather what she will need,” Rachel told the older lady.
Prudence stood quietly in the doorway, as pale as a ghost.
Mrs. Baker whispered to Rachel, “You may want to check on your mum. She does not look well herself.”
Writing Prompt:
For today’s prompt, write about the future. Whether that draws you into the realm of sci-fi or not, that’s OK! Let inspiration strike as it may.
Feeling exposed and more than a little awkward, Morgan sat backward in the chair. She had placed her long dark hair in a ponytail holder, which fell over her right shoulder and draped across her breast. Her bra strap was in the way, and the man asked her to remove it. She really hadn’t thought this out, she told herself. But she wasn’t backing out now. The young girl was glad her back was to him, or he would see that she blushed at this request. She had to remain calm, or he might guess her ID was fake.
The young man had a calming voice and told her, step by step, what he was doing. She wasn’t sure if that helped, but Morgan remained quiet.
“So what is significant about the dove,” the artist asked?
“It’s a family symbol, a show of strength,” Morgan replied. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions, or she might cry. It was so much more than just a symbol or a sign of strength, but words would never adequately describe the meaning of the dove.
As the man flicked a switch, The tattoo gun softly vibrated, and the sound reminded her of the bees that hummed in her grandmother’s garden on warm summer days. “Okay,” she thought to herself, “that was a good sign, right?”
Once the gun touched her skin, however, the pain shocked her. Although she had never been stung by a bee, she was sure this was how it must feel, except in this case, she was being stung repeatedly.
“Try to relax, love,” The man told her. “Take a deep breath.”
Morgan breathed in deeply and repeated the process several times. Finally, she felt her shoulders relax, and the man continued. Morgan focused on Rachel and the women that came after her. Slowly, the pain dissipated. She smiled. “Strength in numbers,” she whispered.
The following morning, her shoulder ached when she moved it. And now she wondered how she was going to clean it. Clearly, she needed help. But, of course, it wasn’t like she could ask her mother. Still, the tattoo was beautiful, and she had no regrets. It tied her to the family she revered and respected. Morgan loved that it represented a long line of the Dove woman and her family. It was her memorial to Rachel’s strength and the determined women who followed this grandmother.
She went to the mirror and removed her shirt. Then, turning her head slightly, Morgan tried to peel a corner of the bandage from her skin. She winced. “Not quite the badass,” she laughed.
At that moment, Krista barged into the room, rambling about the latest injustice of extra laps that her coach forced upon the team because Stella Johnson was late again and was caught making out with her boyfriend, Jimmie, in his father’s frumpy Oldsmobile.
Krista stopped in her tracks when she witnessed Morgan’s latest disaster. A bandage covered her sister’s shoulder, and Krista knew it was a tattoo.
“Oh, you’re dead. You’re so dead. Wait till Mom sees this.” Krista whistled. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes, it hurts, and Mom will not find out from you,” Morgan warned. “Now help me clean it.”
Morgan gathered the cleaning products that the tattoo parlor provided. Krista laughed, “Let me guess. You didn’t think about who would help you clean it after it was done.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and asked, “Will you help me or not?”
“Oh, I’m in,” Krista stated. “Every step of the way. From the beginning to the end, when the parents ground you. How did you get it anyway? Did you forge mom’s name? Fess up, sis.”
Morgan groaned, but suddenly, Krista stopped her insane rambling when she uncovered the dove, and for once, Krista was speechless. Morgan turned to face her sister and watched as tears spilled down Krista’s cheeks.
Writing Prompt:
For today’s prompt, Character A has a very surprising tattoo and Character B discovers it.
As Samuel rode into the clearing, he surveyed his land. The fields had been harvested, and food was stored for the winter. Pines and chestnut trees bordered his farm. It had snowed the night before, and the fields and pasture were blanketed in snow. The sun glistened, and the trees looked like they had been covered in delicate lace that sparkled in the brilliant light.
In the distance, a fire burned in the hearth of his home. The smoke and burning pine wafted in the air. He knew Prudence would be preparing the evening meal. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, for the man was starving. The kind man had fed the last of his food to the child he had found in the woods.
The little lamb sat in front of him, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. Old Bartholomew’s gait had rocked her to sleep. The child had been through so much. He didn’t want to disturb her slumber.
As he got closer to his home, Gideon began to bark, signaling Prudence that Samuel had arrived home safe and sound. She came running out of the house, wrapped in her shawl. Laughing as she ran towards the man she loved. As he entered the opened gate, Samuel whispered, “We have a tiny little guest.”
Prudence arched her eyebrows, wondering what Samuel was bringing home now? Another fawn? Another lamb? What kind of animal had he rescued this time?
He pulled away the blanket from his body. Cradled in Samuel’s arm was a tiny little girl. Dark matted hair framed her heart-shaped face. Although the child needed a bath, Prudence could see the child’s beauty with her rosy cheeks and olive complexion. Prudence moved quickly to take the child from her husband. The girl’s eyes fluttered open. Beneath long dark lashes, the child’s dark eyes stared at Prudence. Suddenly, the girl cried out in fear, reaching for Samuel. Her cries cut through the couple, and they rushed to take the girl inside their home.
“Sit,” Samuel told his wife, pointing at the rocker he had fashioned. He laid the girl in her arms and covered them with the woolen blanket. Then, he grabbed some biscuits from the table and handed them to his wife.
“She’s hungry. Keep her fed while I attend to the horses and the venison. I’ll explain everything when I return,” Samuel promised his wife.
The tiny girl enjoyed the motion of the rocking chair and settled in Prudence’s arms. She smiled when she saw the biscuits, so Prudence broke one in half and gave it to the child. Happily, the child gulped down the biscuit, and she surprised Prudence when she demanded, “More.”
Laughing, Prudence gave the girl the rest of the biscuit. “So where did you come from, little one? You look well-fed and healthy,”
The child laughed and pointed to the last biscuit. Prudence broke it in half and handed it to the girl.
“Ummm umm,” the baby gushed before stuffing the biscuit in her mouth. She climbed from Prudence’s lap and began to explore the room. Prudence stood and decided to check on the stew. While she was stirring, she felt a tug at her dress. Looking up at Prudence, the child reached for her hand. And Prudence stood frozen on the spot. The child had touched her in a way she never thought was possible.
Writing Prompt:
For today’s prompt, set your story in a very common place.
Samuel stood and stretched, and the man began to formulate a plan. First, he would need to fashion a halter for the cow, and he would need to find a rope so he could bring the cow along on his journey home. Picking up the leather bridle and reins from off the peg, he decided he could alter the horse reins and use them to rig a halter for the beast. The lean-to was organized, and Samuel spied cotton ropes on a peg on the back wall. He picked one up, a piece in each hand, and simultaneously tugged on each end. The rope would hold as he led the cow down the trail.
He also knew he would have to carry the girl, but he would want to keep his hands free. He would use the softest rope to tie the girl close to his chest to keep her from falling off his horse. He would wrap the woolen blanket around her and tie it in front like a shawl.
Now he wondered about the child. Did she have a family? Would she be an orphan? Would Pru want to take in this child as her own?
For years after Samuel and Prudence married, she grieved a child’s absence. The barren woman simply could not conceive. She apologized over and over to her husband, for she knew he wanted children too. Then, one day, when he could no longer bear her sadness, the man grabbed his sobbing wife by the shoulders and shook her. “Stop!” Samuel bellowed. “That is enough!”
Surprised, Prudence looked up at her husband. He never raised his voice.
“You need to know I do not blame you for not conceiving a child. Even if we could have known before we married that you could not have a child, I would have married you still. I love you, my wife. I love you,” Samuel told his wife.
“But Samuel,” Prudence began.
“No,” he whispered, “You are more than enough for this man.” He raised an eyebrow and continued. “Maybe it’s not you. Maybe I have bad seed. Did you ever think of that?” He wickedly smiled at his wife.
Prudence shook her head and smiled. When she laughed, he wrapped his world in his arms and kissed the top of her head, wishing he could give her the desires of her heart. From that moment, the couple decided to find joy in their circumstances and rejoice in their sweet union.
Over the years, the townspeople of Salem had approached the couple, asking them to take in orphaned children. They had taken in a few, but often family members were found, and relatives claimed the children.
One year, Samuel and Prudence were asked to take in siblings Thomas and Mary from Ipswich, a neighboring village. Their parents had died from smallpox. The children grew to love their new parents, and finally, the couple felt they had a family of their own. For nearly three years, the happy family prospered until a barrister arrived at their door one day. Apparently, the children had a grandfather in Chester, and he demanded that the children should live with him. Despite the wishes of the children or the concerns of Samuel and Prudence, the children were forced to sail across the seas and live with a complete stranger.
It was too much for all involved, and Prudence swore to her husband that her heart could not take any more losses. From that moment on, Samuel intercepted any requests for homes, wishing to save Prudence any more heartache. That was over two years ago, and the man wondered how Prudence would react when she discovered his hunting trip delivered more than a winter’s bounty of wild game.
Writing Prompt:
For today’s prompt, include a flashback in your story
Jake groaned as the alarm went off on his phone. The man quickly rolled over to turn off the offending sound. Then, in the dark, he patted the nightstand beside him, looking for his glasses. Before he stood, Nancy whispered for him to stay in the warmth of his bed.
“Go back to sleep,” he told her as he kissed her cheek.
The tired man shuffled to the kitchen, knowing his morning coffee would be waiting. He grabbed his favorite mug from the cabinet, the one that said “world’s best dad.” It had been a gift from Holly when she was about eight. Or was it nine? It was hard to remember. He worked so often that the days and years blurred together like the broken glass of a kaleidoscope, only he felt as if he missed the true beauty of life’s designs. He heard about his family’s day trips as they explored museums or hiked in local forests. On homemade videos, he watched Holly’s dance recitals and volleyball games but promised not to miss graduation.
Sighing, he poured a cup of coffee and tiptoed to the living room, a habit from when Holley was little. The father didn’t want to wake her as he readied for work. He turned on the lamp next to his recliner, grabbed the remote from the table stand, and clicked on the fireplace. The cheery warmth chased away the chill in the room, but it did nothing for his somber mood. He’d had been a horrible husband and father that only shared parts of himself with his wife and daughter. Rationalizing, he told himself he only wanted to provide for them.
But all the overtime was not necessary. Did his family really need the condo in Breckinridge? Moreover, Jake worked so often that he rarely took the time for weekend ski trips, the ones his girls enjoyed.
He always thought he made up for his absences with lavish gifts. So for Holly’s eighteenth birthday, he surprised her with a brand new Wrangler with a big red bow and parked it in the driveway. She squealed when she saw it. “Thanks, Dad. Let’s go for a ride. We can take it over Tincup Pass. Let me change.”
He remembered how her voice wavered when he told her no.
“Let me guess,” she sighed, “You have to work.”
With tears in her eyes, Holly placed the keys in his hands and walked away. She never even drove it. That was over two weeks ago.
Jake needed to change and quickly. Holly would only be home until the fall before heading to Berkley. He didn’t have much time. So even though it was a Saturday, the father decided to call off sick and cancel his appointments for the day. He phoned Mia.
“Hi, Mia. I am taking the day off. No, No, I am not sick. I am taking my girls on an adventure. Yeah, we are taking a day trip over to Tincup. Cancel my appointments. Tell them something came up. You take the day off too and enjoy. I will still pay you for your hours. Thanks, Mia!”
Jake smiled. He stood and walked to the kitchen to pour another coffee and begin preparing their lunch. He remembered Nancy had a picnic basket somewhere, probably in the pantry.
The man chuckled. He didn’t think his girls would mind waking up early to go on an adventure. Tincup Pass would make for a perfect day.
He placed his mug on the counter and walked to the pantry. Stepping in, he glanced at the shelves. On top of one, he spied the basket, so he grabbed the step ladder, climbed up, and reached for the item.
Suddenly, a pain wracked his body, and then another. He couldn’t breathe or even call out. He tried to steady himself and grabbed a shelf, but as he fell, the top racks tumbled down along with Nancy’s Christmas china. As the plates fell, they hit cupboards and counters, and the dinnerware shattered. The shards rained down over his limp body.
Before losing consciousness, he looked at the broken glass. The slivers of shattered china glittered like snow. “Lovely,” he thought before he took his last breath.
Writing Prompt:
For today’s prompt, let’s write about a workaholic.
My dream home would be to live among the pines in a mountain town made of clouds and fresh air. During winter, I would view majestic peaks with snow-capped mountains. My alpine meadow would come alive in spring and summer when wildflowers of Blue Columbine, Black-eyed Susans, and Blank Flowers filled my world with timeless beauty. In the fall, aspen would begin their fall show as leaves changed from deep yellow to gold.
I would find comfort and peace with two pint-sized companions that would announce the arrival of chipmunks, rabbits, and deer. We would spend our days under a canopy of towering pine, exploring mountain trails. Then, in the evenings, we would settle down on a back porch swing and watch for shooting stars. And I would breathe and enjoy a quiet life of simple living.
Prudence cried for Samuel, “I can’t find her anywhere!”
Samuel stopped working on the bed he was making for their daughter and followed Prudence from the barn.
“I’ll search the trees, and you search the fields,” he told his wife.
The two separated, running in opposite directions, calling for the child they dearly loved.
As Prudence neared the pond, she heard a child’s laughter, and relief and gratitude washed through her. She slowed her pace to enjoy the moment. Her daughter was safe and happy!
As she turned the bend in the road, she suddenly froze, shocked by what she had witnessed. Rachel sat in the meadow grass, but she was not alone. Animals surrounded her, and her daughter laughed with glee as a doe came near and licked the child on her head. Fox kits laughed along with her baby and rolled on their backs. Chipmunks sat in Rachel’s lap. But the magic ended when Prudence shrieked!
The doe quickly sprang into action and bolted for cover under the canopy of the nearby sycamores. The kits ran to a thicket of blackberries, hiding in the brambles. Chattering, the chipmunks disappeared into the tall grass. As the animals retreated, Rachel began to cry, and Prudence ran to pick up her daughter. The mother could feel her heart pounding as she held the crying girl. Fear swirled, and she wished to know more about the child her husband had brought home to her.
Wishes can be a source of natural tension for a story—will the protagonist get their wish fulfilled or not? What are the consequences of that outcome? For today’s prompt, write about a wish.
For today’s prompt, write about a parent’s wisdom. It could be a physical key, a metaphorical one, or even something completely abstract—it’s totally up to you!
As she sat in her usual seat, I watched her. The quick lunch with a glass of Chardonnay, the quilt of drinking and returning to her job, the breath mint to cover any telltale signs.
Adrienne rarely displayed her emotions and lived a private life. She had few friends, and even her closest companions knew little about her past. But I knew everything, her painful struggles, and her losses. Wearily, I watched in fascination as she picked up the pieces of her life, time after time.
As a child, the girl lost her parents at such a young age she could barely remember them. Her parents died in a cross-country skiing accident in Colorado. The avalanche took her parents in an instant, and she soon moved in with her grandmother.
Over the years, she shared a happy life with her Gram. The woman doted on her granddaughter. The time the two spent together was a gift to Adri, and she treasured the grandmother who loved and adored her. Still, another life ended unexpectedly. When Gram passed, she took a piece of Adri’s heart with her.
And my Adri became another young girl locked into a heartless system of bouncing from home to home. Her fragile life became a series of heartache, one catastrophe after another. Then it settled into a life she found tedious and boring, hence the Chardonnay to get her through the afternoon.
A market research analyst sounded exciting on paper; however, the tedious research on women and their needs and wants left her frustrated. Inwardly, she screamed, “We can do better.” It became her daily prayer. She wanted to chuck it all in a world of face creams, the latest body sculpting techniques, diet crazes, how-tos on makeup, and how successful women juggle families and careers. Still, she did have one favorite research topic: the wines of Napa Valley.
Today, after work, she rushed to the corner bar and grill and ordered her classic chef salad with the ranch on the side. From her research, she knew an oak-aged California Chardonnay would pair nicely with her lean meal and ordered accordingly. Next, she pulled her tablet from her Bottegga Veneta, a gift from a client, and continued her research on Lost Alabaster. The shoe giant wanted to know the latest on a woman’s desire for mid-top sneakers. Colors, styles…oh, she sarcastically thought, maybe throw in comfort and support just for fun!
Sighing, she polished her drink and ordered another. She halfway picked at the salad. She pushed her favorite toppings to one side – the tomatoes, the homemade croutons, the pieces of boiled egg, the cubed cheddar, and small slices of grilled chicken. Always a picky eater, she learned to eat what was on her plate from her teenage years. Now she had the luxury to pick and choose, but old habits died hard. Three bites of the Romaine, one bite of cheddar, followed by the chicken. Three bites of Romaine, two bites of the croutons, after all, who could resist, followed by a cherry tomato. It would take a third glass to finish her meal.
Sighing, she shoved her plate from her and sipped on her third, or was it a fourth glass of wine? She decided to go with three; the one at lunch did not count. She wondered how her life had become so routine and uneventful.
After her Gram died, she lived in a series of foster homes. While living in these shelters, coping skills kept her going. Strange eating habits, listening to music on headphones to drown out the sounds of “family.” Keeping emotions in check. Applying herself in school maintained a steady stream of excuses to stay away from her current dwelling. That’s probably how she became involved in market research. In foster homes, wifi and cell phones were a luxury she lacked. Adri didn’t mind; it gave her the necessary pretext to stay away from the life she abhorred. She spent hours at the library researching school projects on various history, English, and Science topics. She liked the distraction that kept her from dealing with the missing pieces of her life.
At one home, she almost felt she belonged. Adri trusted her foster mom. Zoe tried to make her feel welcome. She never lied to her and even told her the truth. Money was tight, and she needed a roommate, ergo Adri. The two grew close, almost like sisters. One weekend the two binge-watched the entire series of Charmed and ate Ben and Jerry’s straight from the carton. Zoe was a faithful friend who ensured she had wifi for school, clean clothes, and decent meals, well, most of the time, anyway. She allowed Adri to bring home friends and talked to her about boys and birth control. At last, Adri felt she could actually inhale and breathe.
I was at her school the day when her social worker, Ana, arrived. The woman took her to the counselor’s office and methodically and rather coldly told her that Zoe had died on I-80 earlier that morning. The foster mom had been the victim of road rage, and while the shot was not meant for her, she had unknowingly driven into the line of fire. The shooter fled the scene in a silver Volvo or was it a Hyundai? No one glimpsed the driver’s face. Hell, no one even knew if the driver were female or male. Safe to say the shooter was still at large.
That night Adri slept in her first group home, the Kinship House. Two nights later, she woke to a frenzy of wails and screams. One girl in the dorm had slit her wrists and was rushed to the emergency room by ambulance. I watched as that girl recovered, and the girls at Kinship House did not.
A week later, against Adri’s wishes, Ana found her a new placement. A tired couple with grown children took the bewildered girl into their home. Adri’s latest family included two foster siblings, a 14-year-old boy named Isaak and a 12-year-old girl named Nevaeh.
“I saved the lower bunk for you,” Nevaeh gushed.
“Whatever,” sighed Adri as she hopped into the sanctity of the upper bunk. She slipped on her earphones and blasted some Wolf Alice:
She needs a lover to escape her father and mother
She hopes for some other way out of the hole
She’s overachieving, chasing her dreams
And coming down slowly, yeah, it’s out of control
I watched as she navigated life at the Clay residence. It was tolerable as long as she was home by curfew and did not complain about the endless stream of boxed mac and cheese. Still, East Oakland was not the safest place. After Isaak was knifed, the Oakland Tribune rushed an article about foster homes and safety. Social workers scrambled to find new homes for the children. Nevaeh went to a house somewhere in Eureka, Isaak to Stockton, and Adri landed with a young couple in Sausalito.
The Canes were kind, but Adri kept them and everyone else in her life at a distance. Senior year stay on the path – apply for scholarships – no distractions – no commitments – no attachments – no more deadly situations. Did death really seem to follow her?
College at UC Berkley came and went. But, after a brief affair with a married college professor, Adri stayed on course with her mantra of zero involvement.
After college, her business management degree landed her a place with Samuel, Inc. near North Point in San Franciso. Thus, her life of endless tedious research. “Life,” she laughed, could not become any more dreary.
On her days off, Adri made the most of her time. She decorated her apartment on Pierce. On the weekends, she rode her bike along the Presidio or visited the galleries or the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. San Francisco had really become her home.
But she knew she would eventually have to give it all up if she wanted to remain semi-sane. Her research gig paid the bills for her lifestyle, the apartment, the clothes, and the weekends in Napa, but she knew she would have to find another job soon. Life was too short to work from nine to whatever and chase after the empty ads of false promises and dreams.
One day after scanning work sites, she read a job ad that caught her eye.
Save our planet!
Wanted: Research Assistant for an upcoming global sustainable company. Pay
negotiable. Nice perks. Interested?
650-523-1900.
She scanned the requirements and knew a pay cut would be in order for any save-the-world type of employment, but she sent in her resume anyway. Two days later, she received a call from the owner. It really was new and upcoming. His office was in a spare bedroom in his North Point apartment. Still, she agreed to meet him, not at his apartment but at a nearby pub. Her meeting was in two days.
Although she was nervous about the new prospect, she was also excited. I noticed she smiled a little more for the first time in a while. She laughed a little more and drank slightly less wine. I hoped the tide had turned.
The night before her interview, Adri unexpectedly had to work late. As she finished her menial tasks, she couldn’t wait to leave. She wanted to get home, kick off her shoes, and sip on her favorite Zinfendal from the valley, another gift from a client.
After calling for a ride, she slipped on her Versace Sneakers and a light Moncler jacket. It had been a long day, heels were out, and it was dark; she laughed. Who would know? Grabbing her tote, she headed out of the office and took the stairs, not waiting for the elevator.
Once on the street, she lingered in front of the building for her ride. Watching from across the street, I smiled. Adri looked happy. Tomorrow was her interview, and I hoped her life would become more enjoyable for the young woman that had known so much heartache. Whistling, I walked to the corner, for I was still on the clock. This old soul enjoyed walking the streets of North Point in the evenings, something Adri and I had in common.
Suddenly, I had been summoned. “Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!” I cried. I recognized the address. At full speed, I rushed to my next destination, and as I feared, Adri sprawled on the sidewalk. People were screaming; others called 911. A woman sat on the cold walk with Adri’s head in her lap. She uselessly pleaded with my girl to stay with her. But the bullet from the driveby found its mark. Senseless slaughter.
Taking Adri’s hand, the young woman looked up at me and asked, “Do I know you?’
I smiled, “No, not really. We never formally met, but I have wandered in your life from time to time and marveled at your persistence to make it in your world.”
She gazed up at me, rightfully confused.
“Let me explain,” I continued. “I first met you when your parents passed. The next time we crossed paths was when Gram and Zoe died, a terrible tragedy. Then I was summoned twice again, once when the girl from Kinship House slit her wrists and again when Issak was stabbed. Thankfully, the two survived.”
I nervously laughed before I continued. “My career is rather bleak. I am summoned all hours of the day and night. I find my client and leave. After some time, you caught my attention; you were often present at my appointments. I watched as you mourned for your parents, grandmother, and friend. After those occasions, I watched over you, hoping your life would improve. But then, after the girl from Kinship house and then Issak, I worried. Plus, your job at Samuel was so insanely mortifying.”
I rambled on, “And I will have you know I literally jumped for joy when you called Ron about the new job. You would have loved it!”
Sighing, I hung my head before I continued. “I was warned about getting attached to the people left behind, but here I am, my dear, mourning you like I would my own child if I were allowed to be a father.”
“Wait!” She screamed. “Am I…am I”
“Dead?” He finished for her. “Yes, my child, I am afraid so.”
Writing Prompt:
For today’s prompt, write from the perspective of a guardian angel. Whether that’s a supernatural being or just an angel on Earth, let your creativity soar!
“There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: One is roots, the other is wings.” Teaching children values and giving them the opportunity to excel is essential to good parenting. However, I feel I must also provide my children (and myself) insight into the ones who came before us: our ancestors whose lives and stories have shaped us into who we are. This is my journey; these are their stories…
Tales of a Family 