366 Days of Writing Prompts (2020)

Days 1 - 5

1. Outside the Window: What's the weather outside your window doing right now? If that's not inspiring, what's the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?

Dark. The night was still. Not a single breeze ruffled the upturned, vibrant leaves on the large red oak tree, positioned outside my window. I krept to the window and creaked it open. The cool damp air slowly infiltrated my room. The faint scent of a bonfire crawled its way through the crack in the window. At least someone found the weather suitable.

2. The Unrequited love poem: How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back?

I sat, reclined, as the image of her came onto the screen. She stood still. The perfect trophy. Her husband claimed her as he always did, with a kiss on her painted peach cheek. He stepped up in front of her, leading the way. As he started to speak, she continued to stand. An internal cycle, rigged against her.

Suddenly something new. A glitch in her matrix. Her smile faded. She quickly recovered. Eyes weren't on her anyway. My stomach tightened. My body leaned closer. My breath caught as I noticed a tiny, pendant, attached to her diamond necklace. She was wearing my locket.

3. The Vessel: Write about a ship or other vehicle that can take you somewhere different from where you are now.

"A little farther Mr. Reast."

"Careful Mr. Reast."

"Just a little more to the right. That's it, Mr Reast. Now start the procedure."

I pressed the large red button, commanding the submarine to start it's task. The room held its breath as the machine began to make contact.

"And you're certain this will work, Mr. Reast?"

I took a breath as I turned to Mr. Surkey and responded. "It will work. The only thing that could sabotage this procedure would be a shift in the water chemistry, which is unlikely."

He studied my face. "Well. I'll have your head if doesn't."

"Fair enough." I focused on the screen as my machine slowly spread my sealant and deterioration deterrent jelly all over the haul of the large ship. We all studied every detail of the process, as if to create a backup, in the case of failure.

Hours went by before the front of the ship was completely sealed. My machine started for the obvious debris scattered around the surrounding area. Men started to relax and settled down for some rest. This would surely be an overnight operation.

Corporal Waters seated himself next to me. His attention was divided between me and small screen projecting the submarines arms as it continued to work. He sat tall and emotionless. His hands were rested on his lap. He smelled of musky Oak moss and pine.

"So you really think this will work?"

"Yes, Sir. All my tests have concluded with success."

"But with the Titanic? Over a hundred years below water with extreme deterioration."

"You have my word sir."

"Good. If this rising works as you say it will, your name will certainly become synonymous with the story of the Titanic, Mr. Reast." He turned towards me and grinned as he winked an eye.

4. Dancing: Who's dancing and why are they tapping those toes?

From the back of the room, a song quietly began to play. It's melancholy melody became more and more apparent as the volume slowly increased. The door in the back creaked open, allowing the music to flow into the room. It bounced off the walls, filling the room with its tune.

My youngest son stood behind the door, with tears running down his face. He desperately griped my bluetooth speaker.

No one dared to move. No one dare to breath. We all just sat. Tears on our cheeks. Sorrow in our soal.

Then the water was disturbed.

From the front row, Bobby stood. One foot moved. Then the other. His right arm went left. His left arm went right. Another one of his classmates stood. Then another. One by one everyone stood, and joined in on the Peter Shuffle.

My nose watered. My eyes burned with salty tears. My heart pounded in my head. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Oh Peter why? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave? Why didn't you tell me? I would have helped! I could have helped! Oh Peter! Why? Why did my little boy kill himself?

5. Food: What's for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe.

"Is this even edible?" Josh pried at the mush, crunching up his nose in the process.

"You'll get use to it." He looked up then back down. He dug the fork in further, gathering a sizable glob in the crater. He held his breath as he brought it up to his face. He allowed the edge of the glob to come in contact with his pale tongue. He gagged and set the spoon down.

"I don't think I can eat this." The rest of the boys glanced at me, drawing Josh's attention. "Please tell me it gets better?"

I kept my head down. "It won't." At least not for him. Not for the ones who haven't played this game. In the nearly ten years I have been here, I was the only one who knew how this goes. I was the only one who ate the first day.