Potato Chip Prompt ~~Fool for Love

“How did you know?” I asked, not sure I wanted the answer. I thought I had been careful. I thought she wouldn’t notice the signs.

I was a fool.

“Really? You have to ask me that? I was trained since birth to hunt and kill your kind. We both know you have a better question to ask,” she said, her eyes lit by a fire only mortality could provide. Vitality. Life.

Indeed, it was that warmth that drew my kind like moths to a flame. She had been no different than countless others, when she’s caught my gaze from the other side of the room, amber eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Why didn’t you kill me that first night? Why string me along for almost a year?” I asked, getting to the heart of the matter, though mine no longer beat. Even being dead couldn’t keep the pain of heartache at bay.

She shrugged, and broke eye contact first; so confident in my feelings for her she assumed I wouldn’t attack. She likely wasn’t wrong. I was a sucker for love, even at five-hundred years and counting, and she’d strung me along like a lovesick pup. My Maker, were she still among the undead, would probably ask to be staked all over again at the stupidity of it all.

“What fun would that have been?”

Seduction was chief amongst the hunters’ tactics, preying on our need to feed and bask in the glow and life of humans. However, it was also a weapon that could cut both ways, at times.

I stepped in close. She tensed, but made no move to grab a weapon. Her mistake.

When I leaned in to kiss her, she relaxed into my embrace. Our lips met, eyes closed, and for a few moments more I could pretend she wasn’t here to kill me.

Quicker than human sight could follow I grabbed both her wrists in one hand, and the back of her hair with the other. The silky, dirty blond strands were soft in my grip, and her familiar scent enveloped us both.

Yet, instead of struggling she smiled. Cold, cruel, and satisfied.

Pain like I’d never experienced in life or undeath radiated through my chest. In my haste to one-up her I’d forgotten something about hunters:

They worked in pairs.

Potato Chip Prompt: Page 99

writing-prompt-13

“Young lady, you are every bit as beautiful as your mother was when she was your age.” — Jim Butcher, The Aeronaut’s Windlass, pg. 99

“Young lady, you are every bit as beautiful as your mother was when she was your age,” the old man whispered, his tremulous voice a mere shadow of it’s former glory as one of the best tenors in the state.

The woman at his bedside held his hand tenderly, the wrinkly, pale, liver-spotted skin on it a far cry from her smooth and tanned one. At the compliment she gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, so as not to dislodge the i.v., and smiled. It was a half-hearted quirk of her pink, lip-glossed lips, and did nothing to stop the flow of tears that had long ago washed away her mascara and eye liner. She sniffled, her delicate nose dusted with freckles was red from crying and the tissue clutched in her other hand. The freckles also flared out beneath her sorrowful amber eyes and across sculpted cheek bones, though were found sparingly elsewhere. Her willowy frame and slender shoulders were hunched as if in pain, or perhaps from carrying the burden of his death alone.

“And you, granda, will have to give her my love when you see her again,” she murmered, her throat almost too tight to respond. She dropped the tissue and leaned over to stroke his short, wispy, white hair that had once been a match to her fiery red locks, which framed her graceful jawline in a layered bob. At her touch he smiled tremulously all the way up to his bright blue eyes. He took a breath in, and after it sighed out more gently than the rain on the hospital window, he did not draw another. In the end he’d died with the smile she’d loved all her life, and it was his last gift to her.

Potato Chip Prompt: The Smell of Bread

writing-prompt-5

 

The smell of bread baking always made him think of that small, cobbled street in France. He’d wake up early for his daily exercise, the sun touching the horizon with the barest of caresses, and birds just stirring for the day, sleepily chirping. He loved to run, and though he’d get his morning jog on the way to and from town, he slowed down every time he came to that particular road. Hearty scents of various baked goods would waft through the doors thrown open by the bakers, and the aroma would curl around his sense of smell like a fat, lazy cat seeking attention. He could never resist buying a small loaf to enjoy at home with breakfast once he finished his workout; the crusty bread cracking with the most satisfying sound to reveal the softest crumb inside one could ever wish for.

Now he looked out the window of the tall skyscraper, no longer calling that rustic town, small cottage, and rolling green hillside his home. Every once in a while, though, he’d drive into the city very early, find his favorite market street, and walk it as he once did in that faraway country. It wasn’t exactly the same of course, because nothing could compare to the fragrance of freshly baked bread mixing with clean, country air, but it still brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. It also brought the memory of dark eyes, dark hair, and a laugh that bubbled like champagne. He missed the bread, and the town, and the cottage, yes, but he missed her, too.

Potato Chip Prompt: Five Favorite Songs

writing-prompt-2

I’m not sure I could pick my all-time five favorite songs. Songs and books are alike, for me, and what I listen to and read all depend on my mood. So what I’m gonna do is pick five favorite songs from five genres. Keep in mind these are the genres iTunes is telling me these songs are, so they may or may not be 100% correct.
The Songs:
  1. Dance: Hero (Ft. Elizaveta) by Pegboard Nerds
  2. Pop: Counting Stars by OneRepublic
  3. Rock: Storytime by Nightwish
  4. Alternative: BURN IT DOWN by Linkin Park
  5. Country: Better Dig Two by The Band Perry

 Words: Guide, Learned, Dear, Ground, Dead

Oh, my dear, there are days I fear all before me, and days I mourn all that has passed. Times when I cry endless tears for all I wished I could have done for you, but didn’t or couldn’t, and others where I rejoice in everything I have learned with your small hand in mine. In this life, child, we guide you and are guided by you. I will walk with you through the seasons of  your life, from your spring, when all is new, fresh, and just beginning. To summer, when all your actions are vibrant and bold as you become an adult. Then to autumn, when the leaves have turned and fallen to the ground as you raise your own family. However, I will be long gone and physically dead for your winter. When the wisdom of your years has bent your back, time aches in your bones, and laughter and sadness have left lines in your face–each with their own story. I will be there with you in spirit. For I am forever a part of you, and you of me. I love you, dear child, from here to eternity.