Alice Kuipers' writing prompt:
Observe your neighborhood. Make notes from your front doorstep for at least five minutes.
Either – write up to 300 words of the opening of a story set outside your front door (use your observations!)
Or – write a poem made up of words that you’ve written in your doorstep notes.
My entry:
Marsha's Paranioa
Marsha had a habit.
The first time I saw it I thought nothing about it. She had left from her front door, come down the flight of steps, stopped right outside my door then she went back up and came down again, with her bag. I supposed she forgot it and left it at that.
The second time I thought she was generally that forgetful.
The third time I opened my door and greeted her, she rushed back upstairs and didn't come down for the rest of the day.
That got me curious, the next time onwards I observed her, I know, stalkerish... but that's research.
And I observed the same thing everytime; she came down to my floor, looked around, as if she was testing the waters then went back up, got her things and left.
Soon after I realized another habit.
At night before she went to sleep she would flicker her lights on and off around thirty-nine or fourty times. It was exasperating, her room was right above mine and it was like a ritual for her.
An annoying but persistent ritual, she'd even do it when there would be a black out.
God help me.
Her paranoia scared me. She started carpooling with me when we started going to the same college. She'd look around ever five minutes like we were going to be rammed by a monster truck.
It took a while but before you knew it, her paranoia got to me.
One night I could barely sleep. And when I did, I had a dream that we were both in alley and she was constantly turning around and pointing to trash cans and screaming. I know it doesn't sound scary but it was a dream, and even Purple Barney is scary in a nightmare!
Then I decided to move.
