In the search to find something new and creative to do, I have come up with an idea. Flash fiction using Inspirobot as a prompt.
Go to Inspirobot, generate a quote, and write a short story of about 500 words based on what you get. It’s a fun way to flex those writing muscles while also coming up with something fun and entertaining.
Share/link to your creations in the comments!
Here we go!
In all of my years living alone, I never thought anything was amiss. I had my routine – shower, breakfast, crossword, work, errands, et-cetera – and I was set in my ways. I was content being alone, with no expectations, no obligations, no rules. Everything was on my own terms. Then she showed up.
I’m thinking I had too much whiskey. No way a translucent woman in a fancy old-time dress is sitting on the folding chair by the TV trays my Gramma gave me. She’s looking at me, eyebrows raised, like she’s pleased with herself. I rub my forehead and look at the glass I’m holding. “Crap, I’m piss drunk.”
“You are,” she says, in that kinda tinny voice that sounds like a phonecall on an old landline, “but I am indeed here.” I drop the bottle then. Good thing it doesn’t break, although it might’ve if it hadn’t landed on my foot. I’m sitting there, red in the face and trying not to cry while this ghost woman is smirking at me. I throw my glass at her head, and it goes right through her. The glass does break, and gets shards all over the carpet.
“That wasn’t very kind, Angela,” she said. I shout that she isn’t real, and she laughs. Great. “OK, ghost woman, you know my name. I don’t know your name. Not exactly fair. Is my apartment built over your cemetery or something? Not my fault.” I stare at the cracked linoleum, the faded carpet, and the dull wallpaper that surrounds me. I’ve never cared much. I keep it clean, and that’s all I need. Ghost woman is watching me. “My name is Viola. I did live here once, before it all burned down.” I stare at Viola, trying to imagine what was once here. I know this building was built in the thirties, so she was definitely from before then. “What do you want, Viola?” “I would very much like to live again.”
Viola stands up and moves toward me, gliding across the room. I want to run, but my foot is ballooning up from the bottle falling. As I watch her, I realize that we are about the same size. I realize that she intends to take over my body somehow. Without thinking, I try to grab her and hold her down. She isn’t solid. I feel like I’m trying to hold the cold air that pours out of a freezer on a hot day. I grab the crocheted throw my aunt made off the back of the couch and toss it over Viola, then I smack the throw like I’m putting out a fire. Cold air and spectre-like limbs keep pushing back, and I persist. Nobody dead or alive is going to ruin my routine.
Out of nowhere, there’s a loud pop! The throw lies motionless on the floor, and I am surrounded by a warm whirlwind. The scent of flowers and warmth are in the air, and I can faintly hear the flow of music on the breeze. I stand up and open my curtains, looking out over the shore below. When was I last down there, collecting sea glass and shells? When did I last call a friend and take a boat out on the water? Have I watched the sun set in recent memory? In all this time I’ve spent getting settled in my routine, I’ve lost touch with the beauty in the world. I’ve closed myself off. I stopped living and have merely been existing!
I hop over to the freezer to get some ice for my foot, and then I begin making calls. It’s time to reconnect to my life, to my friends, and to everything that is wonderful in this world.