Day 185 Writing Short Things

Stain

The beautiful dress was ruined. The spreading red stain was the last straw. She dropped to her knees and let out a loud wail. It was not the dress. It was not the fact that she would have to wear another old dress to the party. It was none of that. It was the fact that she didn’t want any of it. She wasn’t the great princess they wanted her to be. Nor was she ever to marry a princess. But it was written, and so it would be. She would never be a great artist, nor would they let her roam the woods and learn about every tree, every flower, every root. She was to sit and be quiet, and not to climb trees.

She pushed up as she heard steps coming towards her rooms. She rushed to the window and began climbing down. This was it. It was no or never. This was her great escape.

Photograph

The attic was covered with dust and spiderwebs. They circled the room like a vortex, drawing in all the unforgotten things. At the back of the room, the wooden chest with cracked paint stood as the guardian of the vortex. He crawled there, trying not to bump his head on the low ceiling. The last time he was in the attic was when he was a child, and he had hidden from her grandma and parents. He had stayed here the whole day, reading his book. Now, there was no grandma or parents. There was just the old house and its secrets.

He sat down next to the wooden chest, tracing the faded painted flowers on the cover. They had once been vivid. The blue and violet had shone as if the flowers were alive. He pushed the lid open and went through the contents. There were diaries, old photographs, and miscellaneous knick-knacks left there.

He rummaged through the photos, recognizing some from the pictures downstairs, but there were strangers staring him back. He stopped to marvel at the image of a beautiful woman not older than her mid-twenties. She looked so much like his grandma, but not entirely like her.

He turned the picture around, seeing Mildred written on the back. Whoever this Mildred was, it was a family that was never whispered about. He tugged the picture in his pocket. Mildred would be left here in the vortex; he would find her.

Great Dane

Perfect Great Dane, how I wish to cuddle you.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

Not feeling like writing today. Partly because of the prompts, but mostly because my mind is scattered everywhere. I wish I could have written something more coherent and original. Though I’m sure that the quest for discovering who Mildred was might turn out to be this great, scary adventure.

Have a wonderful day! Thank you for reading ❤