I Cannot Live Without Books

Prompt:
Write a story that starts with a spoiler of what happens in the story, yet still make the end surprising.

It was July second, 2015. I opened my eyes and saw on my ceiling the words “You will die today.” I looked around and saw nobody. I was freaked out, but I decided it was my siblings trying to pull a prank on me.

So I went about my day, business as usual. I headed to my summer job at a FroYo shop, went shopping with my friend Elise, then came home to watch the baseball game on ESPN. As I sat on the couch I looked over at my parents. They were sitting at the kitchen counter, whispering, looking over at me. When I turned, they whipped their heads around and kept quiet. But I had distinctly heard the phrase, “… in her sleep.”

In my sleep what? Do I talk, walk, or sing? I guess so. I decide to not be bothered by it. But when I went to bed I looked up at the words above me and wondered who had written them. Could it be me? Was I writing things in my sleep? Maybe. I drifted off before I realized that it may have been a warning from my unconscious self.

Because later that night, I was dead. I had committed suicide.
In my sleep.

Prompt:
A child is born with an imagination so strong, it leaks into reality.

Seven years ago, my daughter Avery was born. She is my pride and joy, but there is something not quite right about her. Everywhere she goes she causes chaos. One night, we went out to dinner with my sister and her family, and Avery had spaghetti. I turned my head for one second, but when I looked back she had a plateful of worms! And last night, right before bed, she was playing with her dolls when a pumpkin sized carriage appeared out of nowhere! I just don’t know what to do with her. She is so creative and spontaneous, but she always drifts off, like she’s in another world…

I’m Avery. I understand what my mom doesn’t. I have a very big imagination. If I picture myself in a rock band, a drum set will appear in my bedroom. Only for a little while. When I wake up in the morning, everything I conjured with my mind is gone. School is not much fun. I doodle during lunch, daydream during class, and sit on a bench during recess, imagining what it would be like to be normal. I can imagine almost everything… but I’m “that weird girl”. I’m “the daydream freak”. I can imagine whatever I want. The only thing I can’t imagine is how anyone would ever want to be friends with me.

Prompt:
In your dying moments, you see a “Game Over” screen with two options: Try Again or End Game.

I take short, gasping breaths and lean my head back. I see a bright light coming toward me, and I think this is the end. But then large letters appear in midair, spelling out: “Try Again or End Game.” Shocked, I think about my life and if I would ever want to do it over again. So many chances I didn’t take, so many things I should have said. With a shaky hand, I reach out and press the “Try Again.” button.

I open my eyes and expect to see my smiling mother, or a  nurse, or even a hospital room. Instead I see a paramedic and smell blood. “How old is she?” the paramedic asks. “Four.” Replies a woman, obviously shaken. “I can’t believe my baby was part of a hit and run.” The woman begins to cry and I realize what I’ve done. I don’t get to start my life over again– I get to save somebody else’s life. And now that I’m here, in this body, in this life…

I wish I had pushed End Game.

Prompt:
Write a story set in a world where crying is forbidden.

I flung open my front door and ran to the back of the house. My bedroom wall is a big window, giving me a view of the ocean. But I violently rip my curtains shut and collapse on the bed. I can’t do this. I could get caught. I can’t do this. I have to stay positive, like President Smith says. His platform is, “Smile away all your fears, be positive, and never, ever shed tears.”

Crying is illegal. I could be sent to jail for this. Or worse. But I cannot help it. Because ninth grade girls are mean. On purpose. And none of them ever get caught. I sob into my pillow and hear my door creak open. My sister stands there looking at me in horror. I wipe my face and give her a pleading look. But she sprints away and in the distance I hear a phone dial.

I panic. I toss pillows back into place, throw open the curtains, and shove shoes and books under my bed. I bolt the door and hide myself under my covers, shaking with fear. Just as I think the coast is clear, I see my sister in the doorway for a split second. Then, she darts away just as I hear the doorbell ring…