This Week’s Theme: Write about a Tree.

I’ve known you almost your whole life. When my children were first walking, I brought them to this playground. That’s when I first met you. The wind would knock you around, but that didn’t bother you, no, not at all. The kids would even play with you. I would have to warn them "be gentle!", "don’t hurt" and other cries to keep you safe.

Then they grew and we visited more and more. As they climbed the slides and learned how to pump the swings, you watched them, and I watched you. The orbit of the earth around the sun can’t be stopped and neither can young things growing. The playground became less of an attraction as they grew. We would come by for soccer games and to grab a snack off the ice cream truck. You had gotten bigger, but it was as if we grew apart.

Today is just for us. You’re now a full grown tree, not the little sapling I first met. I sit under your shade with my notebook. I watch the little children on the playground as the wind blows my hair, and your leaves. We’re both older now, but I think we are finally at the age where we can get to know each other better.

This Week’s Theme: What is the first New Year’s Resolution your character breaks?

Damn, the sun is too bright this morning. I fumble on the night stand to find my glasses. Ah, much better. I think I had a few too many Mai tais last night. You know that pounding in your head you get when you stand? Oh, yeah, I think all of the blood in my body just rushed to my feet. There’s nothing left in my head. I think I’m going to hurl. Okay, just get to the bathroom kiddo. It’s bad enough to puke in the morning, but it’s worse to have to clean it up. I think it’s passing. Good…good. now all I need is to make the heater stop yelling at me. Oh bloody hell! Where is my water glass? I seriously could use some water. OUCH OUCH OUCH! The faucet is too damn loud! Maybe I should get back in bed. The aspirin is now stuck in my throat. Lovely. Just what I need. The bed is so warm, I’m going back in.

Mmm, that’s better. Wait..um, who’s in my bed with me? Oh SHIT! OH SHIT! I promised this year, I wouldn’t just bring any guy home with me. I promised that this was the year of finding the right guy. The one who won’t fuck with my brains and my heart. What the FUCK was I thinking last night? Can’t I even stop for one fricken day?

Bloody hell, I don’t know if this counts as breaking my resolution. I just wish I could remember where I picked him up last night. Wait, his pants are over there. Wallet? ID? Maybe that would help my memory. But I have to get out of bed. Oh SHIT! He’s waking up.

Oh my God! She’s waking up! Well, on the plus side, I guess I didn’t break my resolution to not bring a strange guy home. 

This Week’s Theme: Your evil villain wants to rule the world. Write about her (or his) reasons.

    She stepped out of her car into the empty parking lot and scanned the horizon. No sight of him. Well, perhaps he was running late. The wind blew off the ocean as she wrapped her coat around her. The walk to the dunes was colder than the last time they met. This probably wasn’t a good idea, meeting at a beach in December, but he had suggested that this be the best way to have a private conversation. Judging from the lack of life, even from the seagulls, she had to admit this would be private.

    As she crested the first rise of the boardwalk, she saw him.  He was sitting in a beach chair with a cooler under his legs. Dressed in a tacky Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, he appeared to be asleep. The empty chair next to him was clearly for her.

    She wondered if she should wake him. Of course he knew she was there, but it was always good to be polite. It was fascinating just to watch him and she could do it for hours. His body was perfect, naturally, and even in the biting wind his skin glowed like the Southern sun.

"Are you going to sit? Or just enjoy the view for a while?" He smiled up at her, dazzling white teeth behind the perfect red lips.

"Sorry, I always enjoy the view", she joked as she pulled up the extra chair. How to start this conversation? That was something she still hadn’t worked through.

He handed her a bottle of Corona, the perfect slice of lime on the rim, the perfect temperature. "So", he started, still watching the waves, "What is the current status of the plan?"

A lone gull swooped down to catch something in the angry water. It seemed so determined. It knew what it wanted and how to get it. She wasn’t so sure of herself anymore.

"We’ve made some progress in the elections. We’ve gotten Romney to announce that the United States is a Christian nation. There are plenty of Internet rumors about Obama and Islam. The rest of the Republican front runners aren’t too concerning. Huckabee is burying himself and Guiliani is painting himself into a corner. We’re trying to crack Hillary, but she is a tough one. To be honest, I worry about her." She took a delicate sip of the beer. Smooth. Perfectly smooth.

He frowned, "Hillary is the tough one? That’s unexpected. I thought she would be easy to get."

"Well, the problem is, sir, she actually believes."

"Really?"

"Yes, and this may prove to be difficult to win her over to our side."

For the first time she could recall, he seemed confused. A wave hit the break wall to her left.

"What exactly does she believe in? She should be easy to convince."

"Well.." Another sip, strangely it was a little bitter this time. "She seems to believe that people are good natured. She believes in people having some sort of morals. She counts as prayer for strength, not for answers."

He sat back and thought about this. It’s best to let him absorb the information, she thought. She watched the waves come in. The foam on each wave seemed to be random, but she knew that there was a tiny order in each one. Patterns upon patterns played with each other, melding into a chaotic spray that churned over the grey waters.

"I’ll have to think about this one." His voice broke her reverie. She glanced up at him. What was his thinking? How would the plan work?

"We have to find a way to convince her that humans need me. Not just for prayers, but for answers. That strength doesn’t come from the person, but from ME." She noticed his eyes were the same color as the waves. Or had the waves changed to match his eyes? "She knows the truth, but we have to convince her otherwise. We’ll never rule the planet if I don’t take advantage of this situation!" He stood suddenly, knocking over the cooler. Broken glass and frothing beer spilled out into the sand. "I need to take control! People don’t BELIEVE enough anymore. They don’t BELIEVE in ME anymore! I need them to stop taking things into their own hands and let ME be in charge!"

She couldn’t look at him when he was this angry. The ocean was responding to his anger, crashing harder on the shore and crushing sea life into the break wall with every breath. She was suddenly overcome by disgust. This was never an emotion she had felt for him. It felt strange and uncomfortable. But it was there nonetheless.

"Is this what your plan is all about?" She almost sneered the word. Where was she getting the nerve to say this to him? "You just want the power? And the glory? Don’t you care about what is right for the people?" The ground was shaking. No, it was just her. She was trembling.

Slowly, he turned and looked at her. His gaze went right through her. Thousands of tiny knives in one glance. "No, it never has been about the people. Why should it be? It’s always been about me. I WANT the nations to fight over ME! I am the Creator. I am the one who started it all! I WANT TO BE THE ONE THEY DIE FOR!" His voice echoed off the dunes and the waves became even more angry.

She looked up at him one last time, his perfect body, perfect hair, perfect everything, except…

"I can’t do this…Not for you. You gave us the ability to think for ourselves. And I thought you wanted to do this to help humans. Not yourself." She reached to touch him, but he was out of her reach.

"I’m sorry" and she turned to walk away, knowing she would never live long enough to make it to her car. 

This Week’s Theme: Write about an auction

When I was younger, my grandfather ran an auction house. I remember the old musty smells of mothballs and cedar that seemed to permeate the items for sale. Most of the auctions were estates; grandfather worked in the real estate business and would help families get rid of the secrets in the attic. It always seemed to me that the auctions were more than just a sale. It was ripping the soul out of the item.

I remember one Saturday afternoon when we went to the auction house. Grandfather told us that there was an estate lot that had some of the most amazing furniture. Mom was fascinated with antiques and furniture was her favorite. I tagged along with my Barbies as I was still to young to stay alone.

This was one of the larger lots that I had seen Grandfather work with. There were bureaus and dressers, and armoire that reminded me of "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe". I wondered what world was hiding behind the heavy doors and was quite disappointed when I peaked in and found nothing but dust and the stench of cedar.

Mom saw a Governor Winthrop desk. Oh, how she had always wanted one of those! She was very excited when she saw it and carefully inspected the quality. As she examined the structure of the desk, I climbed up and looked inside. So many cubbies! This would be an amazing place for Barbie to play, I thought! In the center, there was a tiny door. I opened it and found a set of note cards, tied with a blue satin ribbon. I glanced up. Mom was behind the desk, knocking on the back, muttering to herself. Grandfather was busy working with the auctioneer who was almost ready to start. I snuck the package of note cards into my jacket and shut the small door.

Suddenly, it was starting. Mom herded me towards a chair with a stern reminder to be still and quiet. This was adult business. Surprised, I looked around and realized that I wasn’t the only child. There was a little girl here too. She was about a year or so older than I was. And she was staring at me. I felt a bubble of guilt start. Did she know I took those cards? How could she? No one saw me. Or did she?

The auctioneer started and his cadence waxed and waned with each item, climaxing with the cry of "SOLD!". I lost interest after a while and thought about the cards in my jacket. I looked up and the girl was still watching me. She knows, I thought. I don’t know how, but she knows. In some ways, I felt like that funny poem Dad had told me about, with the heart beating under the floor. The note cards wanted to leave me. They burned in my jacket pocket, almost screaming that I was a thief. Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. Mom was now completely engaged in the auction. The desk was next. I slipped out of my chair and went to the girl.

"Hi", I said.

She looked at me and whispered "Hi" before dropping her gaze to her shoes.

"My Grandfather runs this place." I said, trying to establish that I belonged. Maybe I was trying to explain why I took the cards.

"Oh." More studying of her shoes. "These things are from my Nana’s house. She died last month."

The note cards suddenly weren’t important anymore. Not to me anyway. I thought about how I would feel if Grandfather was gone. I would be devastated. I would miss his walks with me, the Sunday afternoon football games on TV, the smells of his house, everything.  

She motioned towards the desk. "I loved playing with that desk. Nana would let me draw for hours at it. I am going to miss it." But I heard her say she was going to miss her.

I pulled the note cards out of my jacket. "Here. I found these in the desk!" I blurted as I pushed them into her hands. And then I ran back to my chair. I was overwhelmed with the guilt that I had taken something from her Nana. I had to get away from her.

This Week’s Theme: Give a virtuous character a sordid past.

    She threw her keys onto the counter and sank into the chair, head in hands. What would she do now? What could she do now? This was supposed to have been a simple meeting. Sign him up for Boy Scouts, offer to help with the troop, and be the person they all knew her as.

This small town all knew they could count on her. She often volunteered her free time to help with her son’s projects. Most of the parents trusted her. The would let her take the boys out for ice cream or to help with projects. She had created a wonderful life for the two of them out here in the country.

That life was about to be shattered. She had managed to maintain composure when she walked into the meeting and saw him. He was older, perhaps a bit grey on the edges and definitely a bit out of shape, but there was no mistaking him. He kept quiet when she was introduced, but she could see in his eyes that he remembered her. She watched him during the meeting, always catching him staring at her.

He didn’t just remember her, he remembered the past as well. If that past got out, God help her son.