Writing Prompt

Many years ago,when I was young and beautiful, I met a man. My forever man! We fell madly in love and married.

Unfortunately, my husband was called to serve in Vietnam. Before he was walking out the door, I handed him my red scarf.Hold it close to your heart. Let it be a reminder of how much I love you!💕

Wrote him a letter every day, expressing how much I loved him.He wrote back as often as he ...

There was an old lady I would often see in the neighborhood. She would sometimes walk around very slowly by herself just observing everything around her. Sometimes she would sit at a near by bench for who knows how long.

She was always dressed in loose pants and a long sleeved shirt. Around her arm whenever she was out was a red silk scarflette. At first I thought it was just her signature look. ...

The old lady passed across the street, the customary scarlet ribbon still tied around her wrist as she shuffled her feet in her slow progression down the road. “Miss Gerry!” Elaine called, waving from the other side.

She paused and looked over at Elaine. “Oh, hello,” came her quiet reply as a smile spread across her face, adding more wrinkles to her already wrinkled face. Elaine waited for a ca...

"That old lady always wears a red scarflette around her wrist," muttered Lennox—now going by Left Eye until the swelling goes down. "Today, we found out why."

"Turns out she can grand-slap a silly bastard into a new zodiac sign," said Max, nursing his jaw like it owed him money. "With a fuckin’ purse, Lennox. A purse."

“She’s a gang, Max! A gang! Did you see them?! All coordinated like synchroni...

Mildred had noticed the red scarflette wrapped around the old woman’s left wrist, in the same way she noticed that the biker girl had a tuft of hair seemingly immune to gel and the architect fella was a chronic silent farter; when you worked a cafe you got to know people by appearance and traits rather than names. But she hadn’t taken particular heed of the scarflette. It was just… there. Unremark...

“That old lady always wears a red scarflette around her wrist, today we found out why…” Jane whisper-shouted to the other kids nestled in the darkness of their treehouse. The neighborhood gang of decade-old ne’er-do-wells called themselves the Nitwits, making the most out of another summer’s eve by exchanging creepy stories of the old folks next door.

Jane continued after a ghoulish pause. “Me an...

That old lady

Hair white

Like snow

Eyes green

Like grass

Wears all black

Long flowing black skirts

Black collated skirts with ruffles

Black nail polish

Black lipstick

All black

Contrast against her deathly pale skin

Like burnt ashes

Sickly

Unnerving

High and sharp cheekbones

Hollow

Like she doesn’t eat enough

Her frame thin

Skinny

Lank

Like she starves

Maybe she does

Her house

Filled with burgun...

A collage of richly patterned and paint splattered rugs covered the studio’s floor. Canvases idled against the walls. In pencil, charcoal, pastels, studies of dissected orchids were taped to a large pegboard leaning against a covered easel.

It was Cliff’s idea for me to do this puff piece. Lady artists puttering around with watercolors did nothing for me. Cliff promised me the South by Southwest...

The scarflette belonged to her grandmother. It was the last thing she could give to her family before she died in the American Japanese camps during World War 2. Her grandmother was already ill before being sent to the but she got sicker from a broken heart. All their belongings were taken away and sold. Then, they were treated like the enemy for something they didn’t do. The only thing she kept w...

The park bench cradled my frail body as I watched the birds, grief clawing at my chest.

She was blood, she was the sunset sky, she was my eyes after they flooded the plains of my skin. She was my first and only and there will never be another.

Her scarlet words left me pondering my lifeless purpose. To serve or to submit? Why did she have to open the door to this ever flowing pit of hell. Too ...