Scoot is taking some time away from providing new prompts, but encouraged his FFF fans to pick and choose from prompts posted throughout the year, listed here. I scrolled around and selected these:
Write about learning to use a new tool
uncanny familiarity
“I forgot”
A character with a twin
Ellen reached for the thick red book with her left hand. The heat from the cup of coffee in her right hand was starting to burn her fingers, but she didn’t see anywhere to put it down except on the ancient teak bookcase. Deftly, she swapped the book for the coffee, hoping no one noticed her violation of the coaster-on-wood rule in the library. Shifting the heavy tome to her still-throbbing right hand, Ellen glanced at the title: The Big Book of Fairy Tales. The gilt image on the cover stirred her memory with an uncanny familiarity, something just out of her mind’s reach.
Hoping the coffee was cooler, Ellen reached for the cup while searching for a chair. Her plan had been to replace the book as soon as she reclaimed her drink, but there was an itch in the back of her head that persuaded her to examine the text more closely. In a nearby corner, she spied a deep wingback chair that pleaded for her to tuck in and stay for a while. Ellen didn’t have anything on her calendar for the day until dinner with her estranged twin sister, Elaine, so she let herself be pulled into the comfort of the old chair that wrapped around her like a hug from an old friend.
Ellen was not generally sentimental, so feeling like she needed to look at a vintage book of fairy tales while enveloped in an antique chair was an unusual experience for her. She couldn’t resist the compulsion, and she decided not to fight it. Maybe sitting still for a few minutes would allow her to process the changes brought by the new year and determine a path forward.
Her company announced the day before that it would be combining offices and that some positions would be merged, while others would be relocated to another area where the cost of doing business was lower. Ellen had been stunned by the news, and the idea of losing her job or having to move—again—filled her with fear. Ellen liked this city. It was old, but not ancient. It was alive without being chaotic, and she had just put the final decorative touches on the little house near the quaint downtown. This library and its coffee shop suited her in ways that modern cities never could.
“Stop this,” Ellen told herself. “You have managed your career for twenty-five years, and this one change will not stop you. You are skilled, smart, and determined. Put away the fear.”
Ellen tucked the feelings into the deep recesses of her mind and locked the door to them, just as she always had. It was better to forget the things she could not control and make a plan to move forward. She traced the gold on the book’s spine, swallowed the last of her coffee, and prepared to stand up.
But she couldn’t stand. The wings of the chair nearly engulfed her, and she felt herself sinking into the depths of soft cushions. The book in her lap opened, and her eyes fell upon a stunning illustration, rich with color. She read the caption: “Cinderella arrives at the ball.” She was tall and regal, with auburn hair ringed around her face. Ellen touched the resplendent gown and could almost feel the brocade and heavy silk. No—not almost. She did feel the gown. The air smelled of honeysuckle, and Ellen heard the music of lutes, viols, and a harpsichord. She was still in the library, but the illustration was fully alive.
Ellen watched the dances, heard the murmuring about the mystery princess, and thought at one point she smelled roast pork. The grandeur and warmth of the gala reminded her of the times her father read this story to her. It was always her favorite story, told by her favorite person, in a chair like the one that embraced her now. She felt a lump in her throat as she watched the princess dance with the prince, carrying the beauty and elegance of her soul into her movements in ways that almost diminished the glory of her gown. Ellen remembered her father telling her,
“When you have love, compassion, and integrity in your heart, you are always beautiful. Never forget that.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Ellen whispered. “I forgot. I forgot it all. I only wanted to feel secure after you died, but I couldn’t find comfort anywhere. Success and independence I could create on my own terms.”
Ellen thought back to the road she had traveled over the last two decades. Every new job was a step up. Every new city was marked by bland furnished apartments. New technology. New tools to learn. No time for hobbies or friendships. Sure, she had stepped over people on the way to success, but that was business, right? Everyone made sacrifices for achievement, didn’t they? Finally, she felt like she could breathe a little. This new office in a quieter town meant a chance to reconnect with the sister she hadn’t seen in years. Meet Elaine’s husband and children and grandchildren—she thought she remembered news of a grandchild. She could start a real life now that she had money in the bank, with a tidy sum for retirement eventually.
And now the news from the company threatened it all, shaking her confidence and shattering the pretense of peace she had carefully curated. Wanting to avoid staining the beautiful illustrations with tears, Ellen carefully closed the book.
Confession: I haven’t been reading as much lately, so I have missed your contributions. Like always, I am very much impressed! Writing fiction has never been a desire of mine, most it because my Brian doesn’t work that way. But reading it makes me appreciate all it takes to write truly good—or great!!—fiction. Well done, Stephanie!