December Writing Challenge: Day 1

I’ll go more into detail about how incredible and awesome Nanowrimo was this year on Sunday… but for now, what you need to know is that I have sort-of, kind-of  remembered that I really like to write. It’s easy to forget, and it’s not difficult to let yourself drift away from writing everyday – and… let’s just say I’m a personal expert at not writing when I should be.

Solution: Make a writing challenge! 500 words a day with a writing-prompt randomly chosen from online (Unless anyone has suggestions?) So without further ado, enjoy 30 days (because yes, I procrastinated and forgot Day 1) of absurd, probably laced with something or another, writing!

Prompt 1: Do not worry about the lateness of the hour, for there is still time. (Prompt 392)

Her hands trembled; it was the dratted age again, wasn’t it? A long sigh heaved its way from her lungs out into the air, creating a puff of crisp white smoke. Or maybe it was the cold? The heating in her building hadn’t worked for centuries, but her memory seemed to be telling her that she had bought a space-heater not two weeks ago. Dark and intelligent eyes swung up towards the door, noting the buzzing red light indicating that the On switch wasn’t lying. Pursing her lips, she checked her watch – half past 10. Time seemed to be moving faster and faster. Was it only yesterday that she had celebrated her 40th birthday, surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, while her husband’s mouth crinkled up in a well-worn smile? No, that couldn’t be right. Reggie had been dead for 10 years. She had bought this time-keeper shop for something to do. They hadn’t bothered with children, but now that she was entering her 80th decade – the prospect of a younger and gentler touch didn’t seem so horrid as it once had.

Heaving herself to her feet, grasping out blindly for an old walking stick, she ambled slowly over old papers and unwashed floors towards a white window frame. The smell of the place was odorous. Every particle leaked deterioration and decay. What it needed was some air. Ignoring the obvious, that it was a cold night in December, she switched the latch to open. Pieces of paint peeled off in her hands as she pulled up the frame and was met with a swell of snowy air. This set off a round of wheezing, as she attempted to regain control of her body.

“That wasn’t very smart.” A voice brought her rasping to a short. It was the voice of a young man, and as her eyes caught up with her ears – there was indeed a young man sitting in her chair, looking very much at home.

Rapscallions and scoundrels. “We’re closed.” She croaked out, vainly trying to sound intimidating.

“It’s late for you to be open.” The man continued as though she had not spoken, “I was surprised to see your window open – you’ve been putting this off for far too long.” He hopped to his feet, and gentlemanly led her to the chair she had vacated. Too surprised to put up much of a fight, she let him – appreciating the support as her elder bones creaked and groaned at the unexpected movement.

“There’s still some time left.” His eyes tracked her carefully, attentively placing a pillow behind her low back as her hands grasped at her knees, catching her breath in quick bursts.

“Time left?” But the question seemed redundant. If her appearance was to go by anything, then it was about time to leave, maybe to go to the hospital? He didn’t really seem like the nurse type. As the seconds ticked by and her breathing became more steady – the man spoke again.

“What time do you want your watches to stop at?” He asked, curiosity lacing through his words. But her breathes had become shorter, quick bursts of air desperate to escape, and an icy numbness had begun to take over her toes and feet. The words ‘not now’ couldn’t force their way out – and at 10:45, alone, her eyes closed for the very last time as all the watches in the decrepit clock shop stopped.

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