A day of bad writing is always better than a day of no writing.
-Don Roff
Sonder's Daily 100
53 posts in this topic.
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Let's gooooo. I'm not expecting much from myself because I haven't written for so long but I'm hoping this will get the gears moving somewhat.
-Don Roff -
Word Count: 149
"Eddie?" I call softly as I ease the cracked wooden door open. My voice bounces off the hard wood floors and bare walls. The entryway opens to a small living room and a cold fireplace, and behind that, a kitchen the size of a closet. A newspaper lies open on the worn leather couch. Some boots are kicked into a corner.
I didn't tell Mo the secret identity of this humble cottage in the middle of nowhere. I didn't want him to worry. But I know that if anyone can help us, it's Ed.
"Hello?" I try again, taking a step inside.
"Avery?"
I flinch and whirl around.
Ed practically towers over me, his broad shoulders damp with sweat in the mid-evening heat. A gardening shovel is clutched in one hand. His red face splits into a grin.
"Oh, stars, tell me it's you! I thought you were dead!" -
Word Count: 299
“You’ve forgotten how to write,” she snarls, teeth flashing. Her fire-white eyes pulse in the darkness, and I am afraid.
“How can you call yourself a writer when you can barely conjure up a single character?” Her breath is sickeningly warm in my ear, and her accusation wraps around me as a straitjacket. I peel it off and throw it back at her with difficulty.
“I have— I have created you, haven’t I?” I gasp, lurching away from her. I grab for the sword at my hip, but in my panic, I miss it several times. My long hair sticks to my forehead.
Her laugh echoes through the black— ha ha ha— and I try to assure myself that the pain in my chest is merely fear, not physical. She has no real power over me.
“You have personified your insecurity. That is no victory.”
“No,” I agree. “But it is a start.”
My hand finally finds the sword’s hilt, and with a flare of triumph, I heave it before me. The wicked blade flashes, and the darkness momentarily recedes. My enemy is revealed before me, and she is wearing my face. Her pupil-less eyes widen in surprise, and her lips— my lips— twist into a sneer. It sickens me to see it.
“That does not belong to you,” I say.
She takes a small step back before pulling the shadows about her as a blanket. Once again, only her empty eyes hover before me.
Is that her fear I see, or merely my own reflecting?
“Finders-keepers, little one. You are too weak to reclaim yourself.”
“You don’t scare me,” I say, though my shaky voice indicates otherwise. The sword is heavy and powerful in my grasp, and my palms are slick with sweat.
“We will see about that.” -
Word Count: 447
I'm going up every day so far, aw yiss.Spoiler
He sat with his back against the iron park fence with his eyes closed. An old, faded baseball cap was pulled low over his thick black hair, and at least a dozen dog leashes of every color looped around his wrists and between his fingers.
I self-consciously stuffed my own leash in my back pocket, hoping that no one had noticed how strange it had been for a young woman to walk into the dog park without a dog. I had just slipped in behind a young couple with a labradoodle, and waited for the right moment to approach. Taking a deep breath, I dodged around the piles of pups wrestling in the grass and made my way towards him.
When he didn’t react to the sound of my footsteps, I perched on the other end of his bench. A little terrier of some sort watched me suspiciously from its resting spot by the fence. The man remained unresponsive in the corner of my eye. His chest rose and fell evenly. Could he be asleep?
Is this the right guy?
“You want something.”
I jumped at his voice, so low and soft that only I could hear it. I shot another glance at him—his eyes were still closed. The only proof that he was awake was his lips turning up slightly in a smirk.
I hesitated before replying, feeling ridiculous. “Yes. Are you—?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Sweat started beading on the back of my neck. You need this guy. Get it over with.
“I have a job for you,” I said, then cringed at my directness. He hadn’t actually confirmed who he was yet. But then again, neither had I.
He smiled and lifted one leash-burdened hand. “This is my job. I love these guys.” Without opening his eyes, he asked, “Speaking of, where’s your dog?”
“Oh, I...” I stared down at my empty hands, the lie burning my tongue. “She’s over there, by those bushes.” I gestured vaguely over to where a mass of dogs writhed in the shade of an oak tree.
The man shifted on the bench, and when I looked up, he was staring right at me with eyes the color of wet sand. His face was too close to mine. His breathing was slow and even.
“You don’t have a dog.” He said it as a fact, smooth and dark, like he had known before I’d opened my mouth. “You want something.”
I scanned the park again to avoid his gaze. All the other park-goers were oblivious to our conversation as they played with their pets or chatted with one another.
My mouth was parched when I finally responded.
“I want someone dead.”
But WHO? whoooo? I have no idea haha I just wanted to write about a dog-walker assassin. -
Word Count: 143
I dodge, my heart racing. He laughs out loud and pulls back for another strike. He is acting as if we are playing a game, but that first punch to my gut had felt too real. I feel nauseous.
"Fight, L-Lyssa," he slurs. "Come on."
"No thanks," I gasp, and stumble backwards into the empty street. He follows, but his smile is fading. "What the hell wrong with you?"
He stares at me, as if this is too much to process. His hair is wild, and his eyes look swollen. What happened to him? He lashes out again, messier this time. His movements are slowing, and even though he looks as if he's badly drunk, I know something more sinister is going on here.
"God, Caden," I gasp, catching sight of dark bruises snaking up his arms. "What have you gotten yourself into?" -
Word Count: 296
Continuation from Day 1.I try to smile back at him, but I can’t muster the same enthusiasm. I’m tired beyond tired.
“Not dead,” I point out, gesturing to myself. “Getting there, though.”
Eddie’s grin fades. The fading sun spreads around his head like a halo.
“So that’s why you turn up, eh? Only here to exploit my skills.” It’s supposed to come off as light, but the lines around his mouth are too hard.
I sigh and nod, tugging up the bottom of my hoodie to show him the damage. The pain throbs through me again with the slight movement, and I know it has to look awful. His eyes widen.
“Stars, Avery. That’s even worse than last time. What kind of trouble have you gotten into now?”
“I... well..”
Without waiting for a response, he shoos me inside, throwing his shovel on the front step before pulling the door shut behind us.
“I swear,” he mutters as he gets me settled on the couch, “Every time I turn around, I have some kid coming in after messing with a curse, or taunting a mountain dragon, or attempting a flight spell. Whatever. Helps my business. But you?” He fixes me with a stern stare. “You know better than that.”
“Eddie, I wasn’t fooling with magic. I was just– aAH.”
I flinch hard away from his probing fingers. He’s being gentle, but even his warm touch around even the most remote edges of the cut sent spikes of pain through my entire abdomen. He pulls his hands away and peers at me.
“This looks bad.”
I hiss my breath between my teeth. “Yeah, that’s because it is.”
“Avery.”
I roll my head back onto the arm of the couch, cupping my side gingerly. I can feel his eyes on me, and I know he won't help me until I tell him what happened. I groan.
“It’s from a Bijel.”
“What?” -
Word Count: 296 (same as yesterday, what)
“Not exactly how I planned this date to go,” Naomi remarked, staring at the guns pointed at their heads. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel very frightened. Should she be more frightened? She glanced at Franklin for the social cue.
He looked only vaguely irritated. After taking a final bite of his dinner, he wiped his face with his napkin and stood slowly, hands raised almost sarcastically.
“Really, Leo? This is what you’ve come to?”
Leo, a tall, blond man in a perfectly-fitted suit, reddened in anger from where he hovered behind the line of police.
“You think you’re above the law, Franklin. I did what had to be done.” His voice trembled, and he couldn’t seem to look Franklin in the eyes. “Come quietly, and we won’t have trouble.”
Franklin watched him cooly. “Seems like you caused a good bit of unnecessary trouble already.” He nodded to the rest of the restaurant, its patrons scrambling to either get away, or get close enough to take video on their phones. A little girl in a polka-dot dress was crying.
Leo huffed. “Enough.” He nudged one of the policemen. “Cuff him.”
Franklin sighed and held out his hands submissively. Naomi stared at him, confused by this shift in character. Was he really complying? A lock of his impeccable black hair fell across his forehead as the policeman pulled his arms behind his back. His dark eyes found Naomi’s, and in those few seconds, they made a plan.
“Leo,” Franklin said after the policeman had finished jostling him about, his arms secured behind him, “Have you met my girlfriend?”
Leo glanced at her, uninterested. “No. She’s coming in too, as a possible accomplice.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Franklin’s lips curled up in a smile. “She’s one hell of a woman.” -
Word Count: 188
Has anyone noticed that I'm a fan of totally random, disconnected scenes that act like they're building up to some sort of violence? Because I am. And it's strange that that's my default.The boy’s face was bloodied and swollen, his light blond hair glistening with sweat. Fear shone in his eyes.
“This would be a lot easier,” Isa sighed, “if you’d just tell me what I want to know.”
He shook his head slowly, his chin falling to his chest. Isa’s arms were getting tired, but she forced his head up again. This was getting old.
“Come on, kid.”
“No.” His voice hissed between his cracked lips. “I can’t.”
Isa rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation.” She squeezed his chin, hard, and he reluctantly looked her in the eyes.
Leaning close, she spoke softly. “You tell me where your little friend is, and how involved she is in this whole...” she waved her hand carelessly, “rebellion thing. You tell me, you live. You don’t, you die. Simple.”
The boy thrust his face forward defiantly. A line of blood threaded down his cheek from the cut under his stormy gray eyes.
“Okay. I’m not talking.”
Isa grimaced and rocked back on her heels.
“That’s the opposite of what I was hoping for, you realize.” -
Word Count: 111
this week has been rough so i returned to poetry for some comfort
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Word Count: 173
Continuation of Day 4He looks down at his arms blearily, as if he had forgotten about them. His face clears, if for only a second.
“I... They tied me down.”
“Who? Who did?”
He shakes his head, his olive skin flushed. “I dunno.”
I take a step towards him cautiously. The fight has drained from him, his shoulders slumped forward. His voice is strained and harsh, like it is sometimes after he’s been yelling at a soccer game for hours.
“You’ve been gone for two days,” I whisper. He struggles to focus on my face as I near. “You punch me, you’re injured. What happened?”
His licks his lips, swaying there in the middle of the road. The sun is warm on my back. My stomach throbs in time with my hammering heartbeat.
“They told me that they’d—” He swallows hard. “That they’d kill—”
He crumples, his legs collapsing beneath him. The side of his head bounces off the asphalt with a sick smack.
When I grab for him, too late, he is already out cold. -
Word Count: 238
Ivy took a deep breath as she climbed off her bike, the fresh air and natural smell of the lake invigorating her. The routine was clear to her, worn into muscle memory from months of the same, every evening. She leaned her bike against the basswood tree that grew near the water and rummaged in her backpack for her things. Grabbing her sketchbook and pencils, she sat against the roots of the bank and stretched her legs before her. The water almost lapped at the toes of her beloved worn-through-the-toes Converse, but not quite. The lake dropped off a few feet beyond the coarse shoreline, and sometimes Ivy could spot small fish darting in the darker depths. The sun glinted off the water’s gray-blue surface, shimmering and splendid and... right.
Ivy sighed with contentment. Time for art.
She was flipping through the pages of her sketchbook, hungry to begin, when a movement in the water caught her eye. When she glanced up, her heart stopped.
There was a boy in the water. Watching her.
Ivy forgot to breathe, clutching her book to her chest in fright. He stood at least a foot beneath the water, his sandy hair floating about his head as a halo. He cocked his head to the side, dark eyes staring into hers. Ivy noticed that no bubbles rose from his mouth or nose; the water about him was eerily still.
“Hello?” Ivy squeaked. -
Word Count: 319
warning: depressing but I'm trying to work on different types of character interactions“Can I– Can I come in?”
His voice is muffled and thick behind the door. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
I venture into his room cautiously, easing the door shut behind me. His back is to me, hunched over and shoulders slack. I can tell that he’s been crying.
I sit on the bed beside him, the springs creaking beneath our combined weight. He doesn’t move, his hands hanging limp between his knees.
“What can I do for you, kid?” I say. My voice sounds too loud, too bright, and it clashes with the darkness that fills the room. It’s forced, and we both know it.
He shrugs, then sniffs, dragging the back of his hand under his nose.
“Nothing, really.”
I stare at my own hands for a moment, count the wrinkles in my knuckles, before trying again. “Let’s get some ice cream. Or coffee. There’s a new place a few minutes away, now. Heard they have great chai lattes.”
“Nah.”
I shift towards him, look him in the face. His dark hair is greasy from days without showering. There are dark purple bags under his eyes. His lips tremble. I know that I don’t look much better, but it kills me to see him like this.
He can’t meet my eyes.
“I don’t want to do anything, Dad. Not without– ”
He chokes on the words, and turns his head away, unable to stand it.
“Without her,” I finish.
My eyes itch, but I’m all cried out. I never wanted to live life without her, either, but here we are. Here we are, and she is not here. It’s as if we’ve been stranded, my son and I, alienated from reality and all the good parts that come with it. I can’t argue with him.
So we just sit there together. We breathe, then, for a while. In and out. In and out.
And the world spins on without us -
Word Count: 224
“Where are you going?” a familiar voice growled.
Mo froze in the doorway, his hand clutching his keys. Eyes fluttering closed in an attempt to wipe the guilty look off of his face, he turned slowly and forced a smile.
“My home?” he said, jerking his chin towards the building behind him.
Tobias tapped his foot in dissatisfaction, his jaw set. “Not what I meant.”
“Nice to see you, Toby.”
Tobias raised an eyebrow, not about to be distracted. “Maybe the better question would be: Where have you been, Morric?”
Mo rubbed the back of his neck. “I can already tell where this is going.”
“Yeah? Because you broke your promise again, is that it?”
Mo glanced at his friend sheepishly. “Come on, I never made a promise, exactly.” He spread his hands. “And now I feel like you’re mad at me.”
Tobias raked his fingers through his hair, exasperated. “That’s because I am!”
Mo sighed and turned back to unlock his front door.
“You wanna talk about this inside, other than my front step?”
“Not particularly,” Tobias hissed, his voice rising, “Not when you keep sneaking off to go to the... the... ” He took a deep, furious breath.
Mo rolled his eyes. “Say it, man. It’s not going to burn you.”
“The f***ing human world. When you keep going to the human world, alright?” -
Word Count: 347
I missed yesterday because I'm bad at time management. Hope this snippet from my budding novel idea can make up for it. ^-^“You shouldn’t be here, Mo.”
Avery didn’t even have to look up to know he was there. She finished reading the last page of her book before standing up, brushing off her legs.
He mumbled something under his breath.
She whipped around and jabbed a finger at him, making his eyes go wide.
“No, don’t mutter at me. You know you are walking on sheet-thin ice with the Elders as it is.”
He raised his hands in defense. He hadn’t even finished coming out of the shadow doorway yet, and he stepped onto her carpet carefully. Once he was fully in the room, it began to shrink behind him.
“Hey, they can deal. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Yes, you are,” she hissed through her teeth. “You’re putting yourself, and me, in danger.”
He scoffed. “How?”
Her skin prickled at his white gaze. He didn’t get it. “You are defying the Elders! And what about Tobias?”
“There’s no danger there.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “They just make laws for the fun of it. And Toby has always had a stick up his––”
Avery cut him off, her hands clenched. “Yeah? What about me, then? What will happen to me if the authorities find out that you’ve been visiting me every day?”
Tense silence hovered between them as she stared him down. The shadow doorway closed fully, swallowing itself until all that was left was the light yellow paint of her bedroom walls. His mouth set into a thin line.
“I’m making sure that doesn’t happen.”
Avery took a shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering closed. “You’re risking too much, Mo. Every single time you come here, you risk too much.”
Mo’s brow furrowed.
He is too damn stubborn for his own good.
“I just––”
“She’s right, you know,” an unfamiliar voice said from the doorway. Mo and Avery whirled around. A small girl with flaming red hair smiled up at them cheerfully. Her feet were bare and she was wearing a bright yellow sundress.
And she was pointing a gun at Avery’s head. -
Word Count: 192
Continuation of yesterday. Things are getting juicy.“You should have been more cautious, Shadow Boy,” the little girl said. Mo stiffened. “Your friend could get hurt.”
Avery felt nauseous. She held herself entirely still, almost scared to breathe.
“Who are you?” she gasped, never letting her eyes stray from the gun’s barrel. The evening light filtered through Avery’s bedroom window, sliding over the little girl’s face. She couldn’t be older than 10 years old.
The girl cocked her head to the side and grinned. “I’m just like you, sweetheart. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he,” she gestured to Mo with the gun before training it back on Avery, “is going to help me get what I want.”
Mo snapped his mouth closed, which had been hanging open in shock. His eyes narrowed. “The hell I am. You’re pointing a gun at Avery.”
“That’s exactly why I’m pointing a gun at her.” The girl rolled her eyes. “I know I can’t hurt you, Shadow Boy. I’d end up ruining the walls when the bullets go right through you. But her?” She looked at Avery and smiled apologetically. “She’s all too human for her own good.”
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