30 Days of Writing, Day 9: move
Today's creepy Lyme-drabble may have been is definitely inspired by finishing 'Raven Boys' like 20 minutes earlier.
using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go ‘oh! i’m a writer!’.
beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.
Sun slants through the trees, painting the house a soothing orange. Lyme is eighteen years old, fifteen times a murderer, and this is hers.
(A memory: My house, my rules. Don’t like it, little girl, build your own.)
(An image: blood leaks from a pile of teenaged corpses. Lyme scrapes up the sludge of blood and sand, smooths it over the ground, and lays the first brick. The Victor’s tattoo gleams on her wrist.)
Her mentor’s hand rests warm on her shoulder. “Wanna see?”
Lyme bares her teeth. Her house, her rules, and no ghosts allowed, living or dead. “Yeah.”
using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go ‘oh! i’m a writer!’.
beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.
Sun slants through the trees, painting the house a soothing orange. Lyme is eighteen years old, fifteen times a murderer, and this is hers.
(A memory: My house, my rules. Don’t like it, little girl, build your own.)
(An image: blood leaks from a pile of teenaged corpses. Lyme scrapes up the sludge of blood and sand, smooths it over the ground, and lays the first brick. The Victor’s tattoo gleams on her wrist.)
Her mentor’s hand rests warm on her shoulder. “Wanna see?”
Lyme bares her teeth. Her house, her rules, and no ghosts allowed, living or dead. “Yeah.”