Writing prompts, a fun exercise in well… writing. They are usually hit or miss with me. I like the ones that give me an initial concept, just something to twist. I don't like the ones with “Rules.” Like, I get that you need constraints for creativity sometimes, but with writing, it just limits your prose. It just gets in the way of what I want to write.
Now time to immediately contradict it with this writing prompt.
“Describe a specific sound, smell, taste, etc., to capture your setting, then expand from there.“
Though not initially limiting, I am putting a rule in for myself. I can't describe sight, because the narrator is blind. Go ahead, call me a hypocrite, I don't care. Maybe I just like the control I have when I make up the rules. I don't know, don't psychoanalyze me.
For this one, I have to do something a bit different; I have to plan how I want my story to end. I usually just write; I don't like planning. It's slow and bores me. PLUS it's only a short story, I’m not writing a novel! I should be able to sit down and type away until I get something I want.
Anyways, I have some basic info to fill out before I can even write.
The warmth of a sunbeam makes its home on my face, as a gentle breeze rushes over my skin. The vibrant smell of roses fills my nostrils. I can hear leaves rustling overhead as my granddaughter plays. The air tastes of the lake on a humid summer day. Today is a fine day, a perfect day.
“Gwanpa?” The soft voice of my granddaughter makes its home in the breeze.
“What is it, darling?” My speech reverberates deep in my chest.
“Why are you blind?” Ever curious, as always. Reminds me of her mother, my daughter. She, too, asked many questions in that sweet sing-song voice.
She even asked the same question, and at the time, I just answered, ‘Because I was born this way.’ I was so young then, I was never prepared. I just wish I knew what I know now. If only I could go back and just warn myself. I wouldn't have listened, though. Stubborn kid. But it's not too late for her.
“It's so I can appreciate that which others can't.” There is a brief pause, allowing the gentle sound of nature to take over.
“What do you mean, gwanpa?”
“Look around you. This garden I cultivated, all the vibrant colours popping out to you. The flowers look pretty, don't they?”
She giggles, and it lightens my soul. “They are vewy pwetty gwanpa.”
I can’t help but let out a warm smile. “So they are, but that's where most stop. The sight of them is enough sweetness, but go deeper, and you'll experience much more.” I lean over and pluck one of my china roses from the ground. “Come here.”
A scuttle of feet sliding across the floor erupts, till I can feel her right in front of me. “Close your eyes, and take this.” I hold out the china rose, and the stem slips up and out of my hand. “Take a moment to feel it. It's thin and waxy petals. The tinniest imperfections dotting the surface. The ripples in its form. Now smell it, let that sweet smell fill your mind.” Her sharp inhale breaks the rustling of leaves. “Sweet, right?”
“Vewy sweet.” she says with the smile audible in her voice.
“That's what others miss. Sure, they see, but they don't experience it like I do.” I brush my hand against the assortment of flowers. “That's why I am blind, to remind people. That life is more than living one moment to the next, it's about living that moment.”