Writing Prompts

Questionable

PROMPT: Write a story using only questions...

Where is all the sound? Why can't I hear the waves of the ocean slam against the rocks,  the wind whipping through my hair, through my white sundress? Why can't I hear my bare feet pad along the cold, cold rock below me as I run and run and run? Why has the sun moved, from floating above me to sitting atop the thrashing waves?

How can this stupid moment manipulate time and make everything move slowly, dragging on the seconds leading to my escape, to where I run out of steps? When will I finally run out of steps? Why does it have to slow down now, when all I want is for it to speed up?

Will I ever stop? Ever stop running and running and running? Or will I always run towards nothing? Will I be stuck here forever, thinking the edge is closer when it never is, breathing more and more salt in the air, tasting more of the ocean, but never letting it consume me? Never letting it take me far far away?

"Ella?"

Why don't I cry out like I want to when time slows all the way to a stop? How come my body stops listening to me as my legs go stiff, right underneath me, so close to the edge? Why do I turn around to see him running toward me? Why is my body always pulled toward him, like a magnet?

How did he gain control over me? More control than I've ever had?

"What are you doing?"

"Why do you care?" When did the sound come back? How come I can talk again, after so much crying?

Is my heart always going to flutter when he runs his hands through his hair? Am I always going to get the urge to run my fingers through his beautiful, beautiful hair when he does that? Why does he always do that? "What do you mean 'why do I care?' Why don't you ever answer my questions?"

Is he mad at me? Why can't I tell? How does he say not nice words in the nicest way possible?

How come I've never noticed how bright a green his eyes are? Why do his eyes burn everything inside of me? How do his eyes make me feel so warm?

Am I transparent? Why do his eyes make me feel like all my secrets are flooding into him, twisting his brain, but also not affecting him at all? Why can't he just run away, leave, assume I'm not worth it just like everybody else has? How can one person make me want to scream but whisper at the same time? Fly but fall? Escape but never, never ever ever be free?

"Ella? Ella, please, tell me what's going on, what are you doing out here, Ella?"

Everything about him is perfectly good, but is perfectly good also perfectly horrible? How can somebody be so good, so beautiful? Why has God put so much extra time into this one boy?

"Ella?"

"Are you an angel?" Did I say it aloud? How many things have I actually said out loud? How many things have I only heard in my head?

Why is he closer? Why are his hands reaching out to me? Strong hands, strong arms, my brain is screaming that hands will hurt, but why won't my body listen?

Before his fingers can graze my arm I feel my feet padding against the stone, I hear it now, a soft rythym, how has it managed to make my ears smile? Why do some things have to be so beautifully simple, like the music my feet make as I run toward my freedom, and others so beautifully complex, like the boy chasing behind me?

What makes me want to stop at the edge? Why did I stop again?

Why did he follow me? Why is he still there, behind me, panting like a dog? Why does he have to make me break his heart again?

"Are you crazy?" Is that even a question?

"Yes." I hear my voice say, but it is barely a whisper.

And then I fall.

But not towards my death.

I fall Into his arms. And I cry hot hot tears. And I scream because he makes me want so many different things and they all contradict each other and I don't know who I am anymore And my whole life is a question I'm sick of asking.

And I scream and I scream and he holds me there, he doesn't run or leave or decide I'm not worth it.

There was only one more step. I could've been free. But instead I took a step back.

Why?

***Author's Note:

So, this was really hard to write. And I realize that at least one sentence in that story is a run-on because of me trying to squeeze things into questions. I'd like to just point out that after he asks her if she's crazy is when she stops asking questions, because that is the only thing poor Ella knows for sure.

Oh and also this is just meant to be a short story but I actually think I want to make this into a book. There's lots of room in here for creativity, so let me know if you like that idea.

ANYWHOOZERS

Anybody here watch Supernatural?