I wrote this one for a creative writing class after reading Lolita. The assignment was to write a piece with the phrase “picnic, lightning”.
After seventeen years of idyllic childhood, the core of Kara’s Stepfordian world was crumbling. As the family sat down for their weekly Sunday picnic, lightning flashed in her mind. Thunderclouds of thoughts and confusion clogged up her contemplating cerebrum. In the terror of this tornado, Kara did not know what to do. All of the structure that she had established in her life was gone. It had begun with a pizza and ended with Kara walking in on her mom and the delivery man. Read the rest of this entry
The woman on the park bench is exhausted. Her hair is unbrushed and her head hangs, hiding in the hood of the sweatshirt that conceals the rest of her figure. She’s been sitting for hours, hardly moving, barely distinguishable from the bench she occupies. Several people walk by and consider sitting down, but move on to other benches. Something about her aura pushes them away. It is obvious that the other half of the bench is being saved for someone. Whether this person is tangible or just the ghost of a memory is unclear.
A man, casually dressed, stands next to a nearby tree. He watches the woman for a good ten minutes before approaching. He sits like he belongs there, and suddenly, he does. He is the one she’s been waiting for. Read the rest of this entry