Relax—Mom will never find out.
I love writing from a prompt. I call the work push-ups for the brain. Writers often use lists of one-sentence prompts to craft stories, whether to create ideas or as writing exercises. They may use one line as part of the beginning, ending, or somewhere in between, or as the theme. In our Airdrie Writers’ Group, we have one session a month where someone chooses a prompt, and we each spend ten to fifteen minutes individually penning a story. Here’s the prompt from our last meeting where the result for me garnered this young adult short story:
Relax—Mom will never find out.
Chelsea stormed through the kitchen and marched into the living room, twirling her baton with the patience, precision, and confidence a marching band would expect of her.
“Stop it,” I said. As her big sister, I had a right to keep order, especially when Mom wasn’t home. “You know what Mom said.”
“I know.” Chelsea stuck her tongue out at me. “No twirling in the house, but a girl’s got to practice.”
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.
‘No twirling in the house’ was a common argument ever since Chelsea became a Baton Majorette for the Kingsview High School band. Mom worked two jobs for a while when Chelsea was in junior high, earning enough to fund my sister’s attraction to the sport. My parents enrolled her in lessons, helping her to be ahead of her peers in grade ten when it came time to audition. Of course, my sister nailed it with no problem. And, I thought a little too sarcastically, wasn’t it a joy having to attend all her performances too? Maybe a bonk to the head would bring her ego out of the clouds and back to reality.
I watched her twirling. She started with the baton in her left hand beside her hips, then shifted it on top of her right elbow where it rotated across her skin up to her neck. Chelsea dipped and caught it. The baton went twice as fast as she lifted her back leg into a pirouette and twirled the baton over her head, causing her fingers to become a blur. Chelsea then took a wide-leg stance with her back arched, eyeing me with a sly smile, ensuring she still had a captive audience. The baton never stilled.
At least she stood in the center of the room, away from Mom’s Hummel figurine collection. Each piece sat along the fireplace mantel. Their cherub cheeks shone pink, lit by an afternoon sunbeam flowing through the window.
My palms flew to my cheeks when Chelsea slipped up and the baton flew across the rug and bounced against Dad’s rocker.
“Chelsea,” I warned, a growl in my tone.
“I got it covered, Becca. Quit being so bossy.”
“Just don’t,” I pleaded with my hand in the air. I turned away, but the next second a crash resonated against the back wall. The not-so-soft tinkle of glass bouncing off the tiles of the fireplace made me gasp.
“Oh, my G… Chelsea. I told you.”
Her eyes were wide, her bottom lip curled into her mouth, and she chewed on it like a piece of gum before she popped it out. She eyed three figurines, now in a zillion pieces, and said, “Help me, sis. This is partly your fault. You distracted me.”
I choked. “What?”
“Quick, grab the glue,” she said, breathless. “Please.”
I stared at her dumbstruck, but the ‘please’ rang seriously and I realized she had every intention of gluing those figurines back into one piece. The clock’s chiming sent me running to the craft drawer. We had two hours before Mom would be home.
I joined Chelsea, gathering as many full pieces as I could and began separating them on the kitchen table. We were silent as we glued and glued. I ended up with the wrong arm on one piece, but couldn’t change it as Chelsea snatched it out of my hand and placed it back on the mantle.
She shifted the figurine before retrieving her baton from under the couch and stuck her tongue out at me once again. “Relax,” she said. “Mom will never know.”
My shoulders shook with a deep shiver as I glanced at the twisted elbow on that little cherub and hoped she was right.
The End.
I’m up for a challenge - if you have a prompt which you think could make a great story please comment/send it to me. I’ll pick one and see what I can craft. (Hint: I write inspirational and children’s/young adult literature. Please keep it clean.)