Morning all, I hope you are starting to day off well. As for me, I am going to work on my writing prompt and when my fifteen minutes is up, pound back loads of coffee. Last night I bounced in and out of sleep so much I woke up dizzy. So before I totter and fall into the coffee pot, lets see if some balance can be restored with the morning writing prompt. That always shakes a bit of sleep from the brain. Are you ready? Good, then let’s get to it.
I rather like this one. I think it may go in the running for next year’s fifteen minute novel actually. Since I’m having so much fun with James I am thinking of repeating the experiment next year and have been marking a few of the story lines that come up in my morning prompts for possible break out. I won’t decide until December of January. Currently there are about eight or nine prompts I’ve marked. But I do really like the potential of this one.
Wednesday, June 23rd: Fog rolled in off the lake.
Fog rolled in off the lake. It crept in along the streets, obscuring sharp edges and identities. It was a night meant for nefarious undertakings and dastardly deeds. For a moment he looked out over the city eyes trailing those blurred lines and wished for a moment that he was the one out there again preparing for nefarious undertakings of his own.
With well-hidden regret he turned away from the window and looked over the glittering ballroom before him. At first his eyes darted to the displays of finery. Pearl drop earrings were the rage this season. How easy would it be to casually slip a hand to a ladies neck during a casual moment of dancing, whisper something to make her giggle and blush while secreting her earring into his shirt cuff.
So easy he had done it a million times.
The broaches and necklaces, bracelets and rings sparkled and winked at him in the light from the chandelier as though daring him to try. He sighed and let the temptation go. He was a reformed man these days. He made his wealth, more wealth than he could spend in ten life times, and made it in surprisingly legitimate ways. He had no need for thievery now, but sometimes the itch of excitement still twinkled along his fingertips.
One of the servants passed with a tray and offered him a glass of wine. He took it, more for sociability than anything else. This was his party after all, he should be seen to be enjoying it.
He circulated among the guests. The fact that these people now looked at him with awe, introduced him to their eligible daughters with hope in their eyes instead of cringing from him and running in fear, no longer provided him with the amusement it once did.
It all seemed a bit flat tonight.
As he circulated he tried to remember the downside to his earlier existence in an effort to shake off the melancholy that rolled in with the fog.
‘Cold, damp, and hungry,’ he reminded himself.
‘Free and filled with excitement.’ Another voice inside him countered.
‘Fear and aching body,’ he countered.
He remembered his aching fingers as he held on to crumbling brick work, the terror of almost being caught by the guard. His traitorous memory then flashed the remembrance of a thousand exhilarating runs along the rooftops of the city.
‘If I could find the excitement without the hunger that would be nice,’ he finally conceded. Both sides of him faded to silent agreement as he turned to one of his guests and offered the appropriate conversation required of him as host. Even that lost much of it’s sparkle. Once he had to think about his words as they ame out of his mouth. He had to make certain his accent and inflections were as perfect as the words he intoned. Now that too came naturally, the affectations habit, the words routine.
Ten til Midnight 