Write a scene that illustrates this:
Look around in your own life, your friend’s, neighbor’s lives,
something you overhear, or even just a moment you witness on the street. Or something in the news. Take
the real story, situation, etc. turn up the stakes, the conflict and create a premise for a fictional story.
Write out the summary or even the jumping off point.
Every Thursday was her day off. Day off from work, not from her duties as a mom. As she was the only one providing for her family she needed to go grocery shopping, and then fix someone’s phone or bike, and then cooking and cleaning and walking the dog. I never do anything relaxing she used to say. But still, her day off was every Thursday.
Sometimes, when the weather was kind and permissive she could enjoy having lunch in her backyard, under the warmth of the fire-red leaves, gently bothered by the crisp and autumnal wind, with cheese and apples to whet my palate. And there was something she never missed doing, every Thursday, on her day off , that instilled me with peace and calm; scrolling her recipe book, looking for something to prepare for her lunches I never buy my food, it’s healthier if I prepare it myself she explained to me. She’d be checking that book for an hour straight, giggling sometimes and sobbing if it happened not to have the right ingredients for a dish she would really love to have. Yes, Thursdays’ “to do” list was long and uncharming sometimes, but that particular moment was very special.
And on a Thursday morning, knowing that she would have been there, I came back.
NO TRESPASSING, the long and yellow tape seemed to yell. NO TRESPASSING. My nose wake up from the shock more rapidly than my eyes, the thick and dark smoke glued on my skin, my cheeks, first red for the irksome cold weather, turned black; my sight hazy for the ashes. My cry echoed: where once there was a house, now the only thing I could see was a burning hole.
My heart missed a beat, but when it started flowing blood again quickly began to pound on my chest, on my ears, obliging me to run without thinking.
– Miss, you can’t go there, it’s the crime scene.
– I don’t care! that’s my family!
The police officer’s arms firmly anchored my feet to the ground; with tears to moisten the hot pavement. I couldn’t help repeating their names, one, two, three times, five times, screaming, sobbing, my family, my family! Nobody seemed to listen, nobody seemed to care.
– Miss, I really can’t let you go there, it may be dangerous.
– But at least tell me if they are alive!
– Miss, I can’t disclose details of the investigation.
-PLEASE!
– Miss, I can’t…
It had been a matter of seconds. The thick smoke traveled as fast as a blade: I could feel the cracks on my lips, on my face. A rumble silently resonated. My body huddled in a shield, with my eyes closed I could clearly hear grunts and groans and shouts and a second bomb in the area send backup whispered in a painful cry for help.
Even if I couldn’t feel my legs, my arms, my back, or maybe just because I couldn’t feel anything, I started walking towards what was left of my former house.
-Mom, mom! Mom where are you? Sophie, please say something, please!
My voice cracked multiple times. Nobody was there, not my mom, not my sister, not my brother nor my dog. I’ve never believed in hell but if I had I’m sure it would look like that.
– Miss, come here, It’s really dangerous over there!
– I don’t care, I don’t care if it’s dangerous!
Turning my back I kept on wandering around the ashes, alone. Again, nobody answered my cry. But then something colorful drew my attention. Quickly approaching I saw it. I clearly saw. My mom’s recipe book. Untouched. Not even a scratch, not even a page missing. I took it. I couldn’t believe it survived. Why this? I turned it in my hands multiple times. That was the only thing that was left. There was no home, my family was missing. I hugged it tight to my chest. Maybe I can still smell her perfume. Then suddenly it began to vibrate, and a clear voice, a little cold and robotic started talking.
– Finger prints confirmed, start of MI8 procedure. Recorded message for Nina Fulton:
Nina, this is mom. Our house is under attack, I took care of your brothers, they are safe. I still can’t tell you where they are but they are safe. I left this book: you need to bring it to 888 Saddle Boulevard as soon as possible. They will tell you everything that happened. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean this to happen. I love you so much, mommy.
After twenty long years of Thursdays off, someone eventually shot down my mother’s undercover spy retirement plan. We should have seen it coming.I was so sorry for whomever had burnt down my house, put my family in danger!
It was time to re-open my family’s business.
Di Chiara Lopresti
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