Road Trip for a Teen #Shortstory

She reached to her left, towards the car’s radio dial. She was sick of country music and was ready to fight her seatbelt for a change in music. She smiled as her seatbelt didn’t lock on her as she moved to the radio but then sighed in defeat as she realized there were no stations without static or country. She clicked off the radio and sat back in her seat looking out the window. Her mother laughed at her reaction from the driver’s seat, but Madison paid no attention.

It was the mid 90’s, before technology was offered to everyone in the form of cell phones, IPods and tablets. There were no fancy radio options like XM Radio and Wi-Fi didn’t exist yet. This trip was taking place right around the first release of DVD’s, so portable DVD players weren’t invented yet. Not that it would matter because her parents would never allow her to have one.

“You won’t know where you are going if you don’t pay attention to your surroundings.” Madison’s mother would point out during every outing in the car. Then the rest of the drive, no matter how short, would be spent explaining directions.

Though GPS navigation systems have been around for years, it wasn’t available to the public until around the early 2000’s. The only options were knowing where you were going, or using paper copies of maps. Madison’s parents deemed whoever was in the front passenger seat as the, “Map coordinator.”  Which was why she normally never called for the front seat by yelling, “Shotgun.” She would usually just jump in the bad seat with her put her headphones on and listen to The Smashing Pumpkins CD on her portable CD player. All the while in her mind willing the CD not to skip.

On this trip, she had no choice but to sit in the front passengers’ seat, since it was only her mother and her going. Madison’s father was working and couldn’t make the trip, which was not surprising he was always working.  So, her and her mother were driving to visit Madison’s Grandparents farm in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

“Map Coordinator.” Her mom called from the seat next to her.

Madison groaned and looked away from the endless view of tree’s out her window and focused on her mother. Smiling, her mother pointed to the map that Madison had shoved dramatically into the side door after her mother had taken her portable CD player away.

“Can you tell me how much longer we have until the ‘Bridge McDonalds’ in Vinita?” Her mother asked as Madison reached for the map, bumbling with it was it was wrinkled. This was the point they stopped every time they came to Oklahoma.  Blinking at all the lines and words on the map didn’t help because Madison was completely lost.

bridgemcdonalds

“I have no idea.” She mumbled as she kept turning the map from one side to the other trying to make sense of it.

“Let’s see…” Her mother started, “Vinita is out halfway point to Tulsa from Kansas City.” Pausing for a moment in thought then she continued, “So… if I did my math right it should be 30 minutes. “

“How did you figure that out?” Madison asked sighing knowing it would be a long answer. Which her mother perked up too and began to explain.

“Well, you see if you know what time it was when we left then…” Her mother kept explaining as Madison rested her head against the window feeling the warmth of the sun covering her face. She slowly started falling asleep to the lull of her mother talking.

via Daily Prompt: Bumble

Letter From The Depths

Dear You,

Yes, you. The name does not need to be spoken because this letter is to you, all of you. You are all unique beings in your own right. The life you live is a sonnet still be written, a painting that still needs dashes of color added, until we meet.

I will sing your song for you. Will it be the one you excepted to hear?

I will unveil your painting. Does the picture match your world?

If I ask you for your story will you tell me of the broken-hearted girl who only wanted to save the world?

Or the boy-who is lonely but has stars in his eyes?

No matter the tales you try to spin I will see you, all of you. The light you’ve bestowed, the dark you’ve spewed and the gray that still maintains in the universe.

Who am I you ask? Well, that depends on who you are. I am buried in the crevasses of you mind. Always there, always waiting.

 Regards.

endofletterdepths

via Daily Prompt: Bury

Writer’s Block: The Quill

She fiddled with her pen rolling it back and forth between her fingers. Most people chose to do all their writing via computer, but not her. She jokingly dubbed herself a, “Techno-Rebel”, since all her friends poked fun at her. Her self-proclaimed anarchy isn’t just for the idea of, “Fighting the power”, it’s more to keep her from being distracted. If she were to write on her laptop the lure of the social media would suck her in.

As she was attempting to do a trick with her pen, she misjudged and the pen fell on to her paper leaving a black dot. She smiled as she realized the only thing on written on her paper was the dot. Grabbing the pen, she clicked it to close and placed it next to her paper.

Leaning back in her chair she began to rock side to side, still having no inspiration. Her eyes slowly glanced to a side table were her laptop gleamed at her. She shook her head willing away the welcome thoughts of time wasting her device offered.

Sighing, she sat forwarded and started opening the drawers of her desk. Shifting through knick-knacks and other randomly placed items she stumbled across a medium sized, black box. She pulled the box from the draw and set it on the table in front of her opening it a smile slowly emerged from her lips.

Laying gracefully on the black foam in front of her was a purple quill and three small ink bottles. She lightly ran her finger over the purple quill feather as she remembered it was a gift from her friends to support her rebellious ways of no technology writing. Reaching for the bottles she slowly pulled the small corks from them. The corks revealed the vibrant colors hidden behind the mask of the black bottles, green, pink and blue.

Grabbing the quill, she felt the smooth surface of the tubing against her skin. Her mind started to race with ideas. Quickly she dipped her quill in the green bottle and brought her ideas to life.

purplequilink

 

via Daily Prompt: Quill

Life is but a Pluck #Shortstory

The brightly sparking laid silently on the maroon pillow. Even so it still called to her, only she could hear its faint strums willing her to strum its cords. Letting out a faint sigh she stood from her chair and glided over the marble flooring. She never appreciated the task Veles had assigned her, but he was the God of the Underworld and she was only conjured as a servant to him. He was too busy drinking and dinning with the other Gods to be bothered with the simple humans who had forgotten him.

She slowly waved her pale hand over the 4 strings of the Domra making sure not to touch them. The Domra melody came to life, willing her to play the tune of the underworld. The four strings on the instrument held different responsibilities of Veles.  The first string controlled earth, the second string controlled water, the third string controlled nature and the fourth string controlled the underworld.

Domrapluck

 

She picked up the Domra and felt the sensation of mortal life and death rush her body and mind. Sitting on the maroon pillow she crossed her legs as she held the instrument against her chest. Feelings of warmth, love and happiness started to warm her cold body, if she had a heart she was sure it would be pounding with joy. From her centuries of playing the song of the underworld she had begun to feel and understand the emotions that the mortals contained within their hearts and souls. This made her regret to play the instrument, but she had no choice.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and exhaled she began to pluck the strings, sending the tunes of life, death, growth and rebirth towards the mortal world.

 

via Daily Prompt: Pluck

Her Beautiful Soul- Sail #Poetry

C-Abrams-Ghost-Ship,large.1432694651

A somber express graced her face.

Sand slowly dripping, filling her lungs.

Her heart pounding as a call from war drums.

Wind gusts willing her weary body forward.

Hurricanes of thought blasting in her mind.

One word shouted in her mind:

Sail.

A new breath of life wrapping around her soul.

The fire of determination burned within her.

Water wrapping around her feet lifting her to new heights.

Reaching out she felt the warn, woods against her hands.

A grin slowly graced her lips.

Freedom.

ghost-ship