Morning everyone. Running just a bit late. Couldn;t help but hit that snooze button one too many times. But I am awake now and ready to go. Plus I can’t get my coffee until I finish my prompts. Mostly because it is still brewing. So while it brews, let’s write. Timers at the ready and off we go!
I like this. I think I would take it slower and maybe show the claiming of planning ownership and the pre party anger just a smidge more, but I like where this could go.
Wednesday, August 30th: She tied the fascinator onto her head.
She tied the fascinator onto her head. Amy studied herself in the mirror. Two thoughts warred in her brain simultaneously. ‘I look like a chicken,’ was one ‘I will have a good time’ the other. The first was sparked by the long brown feather that curled up and over her head. It was brown and she was certain it came from something other than a chicken, but somehow perched on her head like this it gave her the distinctively angry air of a chicken.
The second came with an almost grim determination. Parties were usually fun events and she regularly enjoyed them. She had done much of the planning for this one in particular and was very much looking forward to it.
‘Until someone else took credit.’
Amy put in the work, securing all of the elements and making sure everything came in under budget, a minor feat all on it’s own considering the requirements that were dropped in her lap. However this morning her stepsister was given all of the credit. Lynn was the darling of the household and claimed credit for all the hard work that went into tonight’s fete.
Her involvement had been to declare ‘We should have a theme,’ and then to saunter out leaving the rest for Amy to deal with. Earlier that morning she walked in and looked over all of the details, not really reading them. She then claimed them as her own.
It wasn’t the first time and such things always soured her on the events. ‘Not this time,’ she told herself. She worked too hard on this not to enjoy it. She smiled at herself. ‘And if anything goes wrong, Lynn can deal with it,’ she thought. The thought held no sting. She doubted anything would actually go very wrong. She planned too well.
‘Still with Lynn taking credit it is now her responsibility.’ Amy gave herself one more look over in the mirror and flicked the feather, determined to think something other than chicken. She turned away from the mirror and heard the first of the guests arrive downstairs. Determined to enjoy herself, Amy went downstairs.
The party was soon in full swing, the band playing, their music filling the house and bursting out into the yard. People were dancing, drinking, laughing and Amy felt a quiet sense of pride in the event. So what if Lynn claimed credit? It was a great party.
Then the screams began. They started in the house and rippled outward. Amy was in the yard, dancing with a man old enough to be her grandfather. He was grinning broadly as he executed his dance steps. His grin continued after the screams and only slowly faded when the dancing stopped and the music came to a clashing halt. He frowned and adjusted his haring aid trying to figure out what was going on. Whispers started in the yard and everyone turned to the house.
No one was certain if they should go towards the screams or not. The screams stopped, but the music did not resume. “What is going on,” her former dancing companion asked. He looked more confused than angry.
“I don’t know,” Amy told him. “I should probably go up to the house to find out.” Slowly Amy began walking towards the house.
Ten til Midnight 