Monday, November 19, 2012

Week 8: The Ghost of my Grandmother

*I'm not sure how it happened, but I missed a week - sorry.

You are dealing with a bout of insomnia that started two days after the loss of you grandmother. Suddenly, you see a ghost who claims to be her spirit. Her spirit orders you to take care of something she wasn't able to do before she passed. If you do so, she'll leave you alone. If you don't, she'll haunt you forever. Write this scene.

My Creativity
Day twelve and still not a single night of unbroken sleep. I've tried it all: counting, warm milk, steady breathing, and so much more. Nothing has worked. I am now laying in bed staring at the ceiling, wishing that slumber would find me. I know I am beyond exhaustion. I even think that I see my grandmother's ghost. I mean come on, a ghost. really? It has always fascinated me the kinds of tricks that the mind if capable of playing.

"I may be a ghost, but I am no figment of your imagination," the ghost whispers.

Great, now my dead grandmother is talking to me.

"Fine, whatever you say Gran." I might as well see where this goes. It is better than doing nothing at all.

The ghost comes closer and sits and the foot of my bed. I sit up and stretch. At least tonight I won't be bored.

"It is very important that you listen to me," says my gran with a hint of force in her tone.

I've got nothing to loose. Why not? "And what is it that you need to say?"

"You must finish what I started before it is too late."

Now I know I've lost my mind. This scene is straight out of some movie. "Which is what?"

"You must stop you cousin from marrying."

I couldn't help but chuckle, "Sure, no problem."

"This is serious," she pauses and looks at me sternly. "The wedding can't happen."

"At least tell me why?"

"Once you have completed the task, I shall leave you to rest." Of course, silly me. She must have been the one keeping me awake all these nights. I mean, please.

"Listen. This is very real. If you want sleep, you must do as I've asked; otherwise I will continue to haunt you."

"Tell me why," I say with some conviction. "How am I supposed to end the wedding?"

"A hard truth," she pauses. "A secret you must keep. Find another way."

Was my gran this annoying while she was alive? Do all ghosts speak in riddles? If I wasn't able to pinch myself I'd think this to be a dream. "Sure, no problem. Break up the wedding with a truth and a secret that I can't not share."

She looks at me, "I am sorry to ask this, but I knew you would see me. You are my last hope. They can not wed because they are brother and sister."

I jump out of bed in shock. Before I can ask anymore questions, she is gone.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Week 7 - Taking Drastic Measures

Around mid-morning one day, you realize that everything that is happening seems really familiar. After much thought you realize that your life has fallen into a terrible rut and now you must take drastic measures to find a way out of it. Write the scene where you make a life-changing decision.

My Creativity
Ask me what is on TV at a certain time of day, and I will likely be able to tell you. I wake up and start my day with coffee in front of the TV. I do laundry, in front of the TV, I work with the TV on...I think you get the point. I work from home, and I don't like being alone. It's too quite. I need to have noise

The problem at the moment is that life has become too predictable. There is no element of surprise, no change from one day to the next. My life has become such a routine. I think that it is the routine making my decisions and not my brain. If that isn't a rut, I don't know what it.

Surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper, a pile of laundry waiting to be folder, and a stack of dirty dishes wanting to be cleaned, I know that this rut has to end. As irrational as it is, I know that I only have one option. I must pack up my life and leave the country. I must start fresh.

I pack very few items. Part of starting over will include recreating myself. Out with the old and in with the new. Isn't that how the cliche goes? After calling the cab to drive me to the airport, I look around my house. There is only one thing left to do.

I walk towards the kitchen table and place the note on top. I hope that my husband finds it before the kids. The cab honks to signal its arrival. Before heading out the door, I gently brush the family photo in the hallway. I don't even have the words to apologize. I am not sorry to be leaving, but I am sorry that they will be hurt by my decision.