This is about a character in what I would call my WIP if it existed much outside my head:
"Ainsley's Purse"
It almost looks like a real Vuitton, but inspect the seams and you can tell it was $10 from a street vendor. Inside, the gummy pacifier she keeps thinking her daughter is still young enough to need nestles next to her passport, marked by previous escape attempts and carried in the hope of another, among a chaos of Stila cosmetics. Her pills, obtained with feigned complaints of back pain, are in a side-zipped pocket, alongside a silver iPod mini loaded with '80's pop. The wallet bristles with credit card receipts and phone numbers, but holds no money at all.
Thanks, connie.
And (while I'm feeling bold) here is a companion piece, about Ainsley's sister.
"Abbey's Purse"
It's a black canvas tote bag, so basic as to be invisible. Mostly, it has her niece's stuff in it -- a stuffed rabbit sticky and purple with grape juice residue, baggies of pretzels and raisins, a stray juice box, barrettes, baby wipes and a pair of toddler-sized underpants. A separate compartment holds all that is Abbey's -- a dogeared Douglas Adams paperback, cherry chapstick, $17.63 in change and small bills, an expired student ID, keys (also sticky). The tape of her songs lives in her inside jacket pocket, waiting for the right moment to be shared with the world.
Thank you so much for the reaction to the drabble. It just...happened. And it is as poignant and frightening to me as it is exciting.
Lyra, yours are very evocative, and I want to know moremoremore, now!
Kristin, yours is wonderful, even if I didn't know the background. I love this:
two three-ring binders, bulging with theft and midnight oil
beyond reason, but I think that this
a gold-lettered plaque, covered in dust and accolades
Would both scan better and leave the reveal for the end if you swap the nouns:
"covered in accolades and dust" since the accolades came first, and have been covered by an accumulation of dust. Just my take. Effective, either way.
This one ended up being more than 100 words. I just couldn't pare it down without doing harm to it (in my mind.) That said, an offering on the current challenge:
What Dreams May Come
It was, sadly, his last one left. He thought about what had gone into the making of it as he held it in his hands, fragile and amorphous. The strands that made up the mass were gossamer fine, shining like white gold but with the tensile strength of hardened steel. Fathomless black holes revolved around the gemstone center, green sparks striking off it’s surface. Deep in the heart of the emerald, slept a kernel of hope. All that was required to complete this project was the fires of creation. He had crafted this one with great reluctance, but it would be a necessity if things were to continue as they must . “Sleep well, Daniel,” he whispered and tucked the dream back under his voluminous cloak for safety.
