I had fun with the character thing yesterday, made me go back and think of some character names I’ve been jotting down for years. But today I am jumping in with a prompt again, I looked around for some interesting ones and stumbled upon one at Weird & Wonderful Writing Prompts on Tumblr. I like that most of theirs are short, a few words to get one going. And that’s what happened when I saw the one I picked, the word just ignited a scene in my head and a few sentences. That’s usually a pretty good indication of a good prompt.
78: A thing. A scar.
“What’s this one from?” She says as her fingers ghost across the exposed sliver of my left thigh. We’ve elected to take the day off from the public, just lay in bed all day, together. Over the last hour we’ve gone back and forth sharing stories about any marks on our bodies; tattoos, birth marks, scars.
I look down even though I know the long, jagged line of white and what caused it, just to see the way her mint green nails dance over the zigzag of it. “It was summer, I was young, maybe ten or eleven. We were out on my grandparents farm playing hide and seek. I was looking for everyone when I spotted my cousin Jeff under the truck topper, you know those things that go over the beds of pick ups?” She nods up at me so I continue on. “I pointed him out and came around the corner to call him out when he lifted one of the windows to come out. The corner of it caught me in the leg, dug in and dragged a couple of inches.”
Again the soft pad of her index finger trailed up and then down and I could see the frown in her brow at the idea of experiencing it. “Did you need stitches at all?”
“Officially? Maybe, it wasn’t all that deep but it bled like stuck pig for a while. But it wasn’t nothing my grandma couldn’t clean up, bandage, and send me out for the next round.” Rachel grew up in the city so she was always fascinated when my stories involved the country and the farm since it was a world she had never experienced. I picked up her hand and rubbed over the precise white line of a scar on the side of her hand below her pinky, her first battle with a carving knife that she was weirdly proud of. She squirms a little and laughs at the ticklish feeling it gives her and I smile too saying, “I should take you there some long weekend. Jeff inherited the land and lives out there now actually.”
She nods enthusiastically, “I’d like that.” Her hair is falling all over, between the curve of her neck and shoulders as she pushers farther onto her side and into my side, all over her pillow behind her, and a few strands of her bangs get tangled in her eyelashes as she blinks and looks over the plains of my face.
I catch another sliver of muted skin set in the midst of her tan expanse, right below her collar-bone. I detach my hand from hers and reach out, skimming over the surface and whisper, “Your turn, tell me about this one.”