Day 30: What I've Learned

I learned about moon phases in first grade
but the first time I saw a crescent moon
was when my head was resting perfectly in the gentle curve of your neck.

I learned about the periodic table in sixth grade
but I didn't experience chemistry
until I met your eyes for the first time.

I learned about literary theory in ninth grade
but I never knew the impact three words can have
until you looked into my eyes and said "I love you."

I learned about flammable objects in eleventh grade
but I never knew my heart was one of them 
until I felt it melting into my veins as you walked away.

Day 29

My heart is a skeleton
resting in a grave you dug
with the same two hands
that broke it in half.

Day 28: Haiku

thanks for making me
feel beautiful even if
it was just a dream

Day 27: Thoughts

I always had an easy time writing
about people and things and places.
I never struggled with conveying my thoughts
through words and
I would sit down to a pen and paper
and write and
black ink escaped my pen
as quickly as thoughts
ran through my head.
But when I met you,
I stopped writing.
I could not find the words
to say how I felt
and for a while I told myself
it was because I was too happy
and you were too special
to be limited to just words.
But then
I realized something as I picked up
my pen for the first time in months--
you took the poetry out of me,

because you had no poetry in you.

Day 26: Seasons

In summer
we meet at an ice cream parlor
I swivel my chair just in time
to see you walking through the door
and you smile and sit down beside me
and softly brush vanilla from my lips.

In autumn
you kiss me for the first time;
soft lips meet my chapped ones
and I tiptoe to meet your eyes,
they are hazel with specks of gold
like the yellow leaves on the ground
and I am in love
but I do not dare say it out loud.

In winter
I sit alone at the chair I first met you
and swivel around again and again
watching the door just in case
you'll walk through and smile at me.
The cold outside could never be
as bitter as my heart.

In spring
I breathe in fresh air
and I start to forget
the way your hazel eyes
looked at me and the
taste of your lips the first time
you kissed me and the way
your smile glowed when
I said "I love you" back
and I am scared because I
am trying so hard to hold on.

Appreciate the Little Things

Hello,

I thought I would share with you some recent photos from a vacation.

"The earth has music for those who listen." --George Santanaya

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature -- the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.”  --Rachel Carson

Day 25: Heartbeat

Thump. Thump. Thump.
I measure my heartbeat as if
I'm an insomniac counting sheep
but now regret opens hazy eyes
and all I see is isolation.
I cannot remember the last time
I've seen outside this room,
My body is so heavy to lift
it's like an elephant sitting
on my chest and each breath I take
is a breath lost.
And each breath I take
is my heart beating just one last time
and each breath I take
is another second that I am alive
but even though my heart keeps beating,
guilt will forever be my demise.

Day 24: Foolish

Why must everything lead back to you?
My mother thinks I'm foolish because I'm still stuck on you
but today would have been our five year anniversary
and I've decided that today will be the day that I finally
let
you
go.
Because even though I can't go into my kitchen
without thinking of the times we've cooked together,
you teasing me about my apron
and the flour fights we would have,
Even though I can't get into my car
without thinking of the first time you kissed me
with the snow falling against the windows
and our breath fogging up the glass,
Even though I can't picture my future
without seeing you in the frame,
Even though I can't imagine
resting my head on any other chest,
our hearts beating in perfect rhythm,
Even though there's another girl and she's so much
better than me in every way
I still can't
let
you
go.

Day 23: Why I Write

I am nothing without words.
The strings of letters that confused me
as a toddler now shape my entire being.
My mind has memorized the
curve of each phoneme and
my hand automatically
scrawls out every thought.
I am nothing without words.
I write when I am
in love and in pain.
I write to defeat the cliche that
"Actions speak louder than words"
and I write to strengthen another
that says
"The pen is mightier than the sword."
I write because a picture is worth
so much more than a thousand words
and I write because I need the world
to know that
there is nothing
more powerful

than the
words.

Day 22: Games

Someone once told me
"Never be with a
man who tries to make
you jealous. If he
wants you in his life,
you shouldn't have to
compete for the part."
I tried to listen,
I tried to escape,
but there is something
to his games that keeps
me wanting to play.

Day 21: An Empty Bed

This morning I woke
to coffee and newspaper
and innocent eyes.

Long blonde hair grazed my
legs as you crawled back in bed.
I skimmed each headline

looking for words, words
that I could use to say what
I needed to say.

When the courage came,
I watched your eyes while I spoke.
The glimmer in them

disappeared swiftly.
Once green eyes with specks of gold,
now lifeless hazel.

"I'm sorry," I say,
but you're already packing.
I cannot turn back.

Your curtain of blonde
silk is the last thing I see
as I close the door.

This morning I woke
to coffee and newspaper
and innocent eyes.

Tonight I roll to 

your side of the bed, feeling

the soft curve where your

body used to lay,

and I imagine bringing

life back in your eyes.

Day 20: Star-Crossed

Use the word star-crossed in a poem, from prose-n-bows, Thank you!

I studied Shakespeare every year in school
but the year I read Romeo and Juliet
was the year I stopped believing in love at first sight
and I never understood how you can love someone
so much you'd sacrifice yourself for them.
But I analyzed Shakespeare's words
and I wrote my essays
and I knew I would never be so foolish.

Until I met you.

Isn't that how the story always goes?
It took me one second to run into you,
one second to hurriedly apologize,
and one second to notice your hazel eyes.
You were confident and poised,
while I was insecure and submissive.
Like Romeo and Juliet
we were star-crossed lovers--
destined to end in tragedy,
but I didn't care.
And I finally understood
how Juliet had fallen so hard
because I too was on my knees
and I didn't want to get up.

Day 19: You Are Like Poetry

You are like poetry.
The thin lines decorating your hands
are the black ink that marks a lined page,
The beat of your heart is
a steady stream of words
with perfect rhythm.
You are the words I breathe
and the rhymes I arrange
and the ink flowing out of my pen.
You are the thoughts in my head
that I put down on paper.
You are the everlasting memories
that words create.
You are permanent
and beautiful
and mine.

Day 18: Dust Storm

You are the blur in my eyes
that comes from staring at the sun too long,
and your fading light drowns me in sorrow
as you disappear beneath the horizon.
My eyes sting like I've been caught in a dust storm
and my tears burn as they crawl down my face
as if I'm being branded by your desertion.
But then--
a glimmer of hope--
like a ray of light pushing through
a dark cloud
you turn around and shoot me
in the heart with beaming eyes
like lasers
and I am bleeding.
I never understood the term
"broken heart" until this moment,
until I am lying on my back
staring up at the sky
desperately looking for a
glimpse of you in the clouds.

Day 17: Shepherd

Grab the closest book. Go to page 29. Write down 10 words that catch your eye. Use 7 of these words in a poem.
Words from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho:  
shepherd, protect, years, learned, possible, occupy, curse, dream, suffer, wind

Like a shepherd protects his sheep
I will watch over you.
When you hear the wind whistling,
know that it is me whispering your name.
When you dream about me once in a blue moon,
know that you constantly occupy my entire being.
When you stumble upon bad luck,
know that I will be doing whatever possible
to lift your suffering and show you happiness.
When you have learned everything there is
to know about life,
know that I will be here to teach you more.

Day 16: Indulgence

Here you stand before me
sardonically yammering
on
and
on
I watch your lips forming
letters and syllables and words
as my mind wanders off
into the unknown,
to the depths that my brain
cannot fathom.
Outward is my escape,
I can taste the indulgence
on my tongue like
I'm catching snowflakes
in December.

But I do not wish to go.

Day 15: Sanctuary

What a beautiful thing it is to have loved you.
Your open heart took in all of me and
provided me a sanctuary of safety and love.
What a beautiful thing it is to have known you, 
to wake up to your gentle eyes each morning
and fall asleep in your loving arms each night.
Your body is a nest for warmth
and your mind is an open book for my reading.
Your smile is an invitation
and your lips are my escape.
What a beautiful thing it is have loved you.
You took in all of me
so I will take in you. 

Day 14: See You Soon

I remember sitting at the kitchen table 
practicing my writing.
My little left hand grasped a pen 
and I showed off my cursive to you.
I don't recall what I was writing,
but I do remember you saying, 
"Wow! Look at you go,"
an admiring, toothless smile
on your face.
I remember walking by you on the couch,
thinking you were sleeping.
I tip-toed past only to find you were tricking me.
You jokingly reached out your cane to trip me
and then grabbed me and held me up 
before I fell to the ground laughing.
I remember being in awe that you 
could carry me with your eighty year old bones. 
I remember the jokes 
and the choking fits
and the hospital visits
and sitting in the front row in church
watching my mom dab the tears in her eyes.
I remember the reception and my blurred vision
when I wasn't sure if I was laughing or crying
at the stories people shared of you.
I remember going home that day feeling empty,
but knowing you're better off, wherever you are.

I'll see you soon. 

Day 13: Silence

Write a poem about an experience you might have if you were in a dark room alone. What thoughts would go through your mind, and what memories might be sparked?

I hold my hands out in front of me
slowly
cautiously
step forward
feeling nothing but cool air
on my fingertips
a wall should be coming up soon
there it is,
hard metal on my palms
suddenly,
a loud Bang!
a gunshot
amidst all the silence
and all the blackness
careful
don't breathe too loudly now
someone might be listening
I know I shouldn't be here
you told me I shouldn't go by myself
but what's the fun in
sneaking around
if I have your permission?

Day 12: Black and White

Write about where you feel most at home. 

In front of me are columns of black and white;

above that, swirled lines and notes and words put me in a trance.

My hands automatically feel for the keys and 

my fingers gently glide over each ivory row,

the room fills with Edward Grieg’s “Morning” and

I close my eyes;
I need not look at the music,

my fingers remember where to go on their own. 

I’m sitting at my piano. 

I feel power in knowing that 

my two hands can create a masterpiece,

bring tears of joy to the people listening,

and fill the room with soft melodies.

My mom signed me up for piano lessons 

when I was seven years old. 

I didn't enjoy it much but 

I knew my mom always dreamed of 

having a daughter that played

so I continued my lessons and 

let her French braid my hair and 

dress me up and 

invite her friends to my recitals. 

At seven years old, however, 

time was much too valuable to be spent practicing 

or going to my weekly thirty minute lesson. 

The passion wasn't there.

Saddened by the news,

my mom told me I would regret it

but I brushed that comment off

like I did the dirt on my knees

or the grass stains on my church dresses. 

Of course, my mom was right. 

As I began high school, I realized

I wanted to be like the kids who could 

pick up an instrument and play something beautiful. 

My mom cried when I told her I wanted

to begin lessons again. 

We found a teacher and 

bought a used keyboard and

I sat down at a piano for the first time in five years. 

I could barely identify the notes on the sheet of music

but my teacher told me to play what I remembered. 

I told her I didn’t remember anything

but she urged me to close my eyes and 

place my hands on the piano. 

I dutifully obliged and suddenly my hands began moving,

floating to keys with names I could not think of. 

Beethoven’s “Für Elise” permeated my teacher’s house

and when I finished, my heart was racing. 

That’s when my passion began.

I had an essay prompt in middle school,

one that required me to write about 

how different the world would be without color. 

I didn’t have a good answer then, but I do now. 

If the world was ever devoid of color, 

I would be perfectly content,

for I’d still have my columns of black and white.

Day 11: Don't Jump

Write something that uses the following: a bracelet, a jump, and the word "frugal." 

Your frugal promises led me to this,
like the diamond bracelet you gave me,
you led me around in a never-ending circuit
of what-ifs and could-have-beens.
A relentless reminder of the lies you've told
lingers on my delicate wrist for admiring passers-by.
This is not a token of your love
It's a symbol of your lies.
But now,
I can see only your
clear, blue eyes as I peer down
to the river beneath me.
Why does everything have to
remind me of you,
when all I'm trying to do is forget?
I step closer to the edge of the bridge
until my heels are all that's left
touching the rough, cement surface.
I feel the breeze off the river
gently brushing my face,
Oh, how it reminds me of your docile touch.
For the last time, I inhale the
crisp, salty air before I close my eyes
and let gravity run its course,
pulling my frail body forward.

I can't turn back now.

1...2...3...

(don't)
jump.

Day 10: Igloo

Write a poem about a family member and a time you spent with them.

Remember when we built that igloo in our front yard?
Our hearts raced as we built a mound of snow,
dug out the center
and thought we were going to live in there forever.

It was your idea, of course;
you were always the creative one.

Remember when mum and dad called us in for dinner?
My stomach grumbled;
I knew my brother could make it over night,
but I was convinced I would be dead by morning.

Remember the next morning when I went
to the hospital for frost bite?
Mum and dad were furious,
but nonetheless you remained in that igloo.

Remember when you told me if we stayed
inside our frosty abode it would never melt?
I believed you.

Oh brother,
Your hopefulness made me stay;
Your big brown eyes
identical to mine made me stay.
Your lopsided smile and
crooked teeth made me stay.

But your willingness to live in a dome of ice for days
made me realize this wasn't a game for you;
our igloo was your escape.

Day 9: Hostage

Write something that uses these words: hostage, rudimentary, cascade.


Like the rudimentary need for air,
my desire for you never ends.
I have waited for the lust to disappear
like a hostage waits for rescue
Although part of me hates you,
part of me wants to run to you
like steady rain cascading down
a hillside on a dreary day.
I want to break down your walls
Open up to me like you have before
Tell me these years of devotion
have not gone to waste
For I've been told
each minute I spend on you
is a minute you're thinking of me.
So tell me, dear, if you've spent
five hundred
twenty five thousand
six hundred minutes
remembering us,

why haven't you come for me yet?

Day 8: How to Survive Fire

Write something that begins and ends with fire.


Press your hands against the wall
Feel the heat permeating through the plaster
to your nimble fingers.

Pretend it's just the feeling of
warm, clean clothes after you've ironed them. 

Take a breath
Feel your lungs turning black
with each breath you take.

Pretend it's just the feeling
you had when you smoked your first cigarette.

Hold your breath
Feel your heart slowing with 
each second that goes by without oxygen.

Pretend you're just a kid again
trying to get your hiccups to go away.

Watch your possessions 
Feel a lump in your throat as
each object is absorbed by a mass of orange flames.

Pretend you're four again playing with that doll 
whose porcelain you can still feel under your innocent hands.

Day 7: Blind Date

Your are going on a blind date for Valentine’s Day. In case the date is a dud, you have your best friend on standby. Your friend is to call you at 9:30 on the dot. If the date is going well, you answer and use the phrase “I already took care of that.” If it’s not, you answer and claim your friend has an emergency. The date is going well and your friend calls at 9:30 as planned—only problem is, the friend calls with a real emergency. What is it and what do you do?

I scan the falling-apart restaurant, taking in every rusted chair and scratched table. I'm looking for a man with black hair and a red tie. He shouldn't be hard to find; today's Valentine's Day and no one in their right mind would come here for an evening out with their significant other. Except me of course, and the guy my best friend set me up with. I should have known as soon as he suggested this place that this date wouldn't go well. I enjoy extravagance--chandeliers and waiters in tuxedos offering me champagne. Not whatever this is. 

Surprisingly, a few tables are filled, but there is no sight of any curly black hair. Showing up late to a blind date is not a good start. I should give this guy a few tips when he gets here--no, if he gets here. I take a seat in a booth, pretending not to care that I'm sitting alone on Valentine's Day. Even though I try not to, my eyes keep glancing toward the door, looking for my date. I look at my watch; it's only a few minutes past eight--he's not that late. 

As I scan the menu for something that would satisfy my growling, vegan stomach, a shadow appears over the table.

"You must be Missy," a deep voice says. I look up to find a beautiful creature standing in front of me. Chiseled and tan, my date looks like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. "I'm Alex," he says, stretching out his hand to shake mine. When I finally take my eyes off his face, I admire the rest of him. He's lean and looks like a marathon runner or Tour de France biker. I decide I need to go to the gym tomorrow. 

"Thanks for coming tonight, Missy. I know this isn't the fanciest place in the world, but they have the absolute best sweet potato fries." I like this guy already. My friend who set up the date told me she would get me out of it if I absolutely hated him. But the way she said it, she sounded so confident that I would love him. I get it now. This guy is perfect--he's healthy, gorgeous and polite. I met him two minutes ago and I already feel like I would say 'yes' if he proposed. 

"Welcome to Miriam's, what can I get you to drink?" 

"Want to share a bottle of champagne?" Alex says, his clear, green eyes glimmering and hopeful.

"I'd love that," I say, running my fingers through my hair and adjusting my posture to match his. I'm not one to be flirtatious, but considering this guy could easily land a Victoria's Secret Angel, I need to make myself seem as confident and attractive as possible. 

After we order (I get a club sandwich with sweet potato fries and he orders a salad), we immediately dive into conversation. I find out that he is indeed a marathon runner, he does logistics for retail corporations, and he recently moved to Chicago from Brooklyn, New York. He's everything my mom ever wanted me to find in a man and suddenly, I'm envisioning Alex and I going to dinner at my parent's place. I imagine my parents finally being impressed with me. 

I expect him to get up and leave when I tell him I'm a freelance writer. It may be true that I can barely afford my rent and that I've never run more than a mile in my life, but Alex stays. In fact, he smiles and tells me how jealous he is that I can write. 

"I just never understood the appeal," he says with a smile that looks like an audition for a Colgate commercial, "I guess numbers are more my thing."

9:30 comes so quickly that I jump when I hear my phone ring. That's when I remember my friend's plan. She calls at 9:30 and if the date is awful, she'll say she has an emergency and get me out of it. It wouldn't be hard too convince Alex of an emergency considering my friend, Cindy, recently discovered she's pregnant. 

"I'll be just a minute, I'm sorry," I say, hoping Alex doesn't think I'm being too rude. "I already took care of that," I say, as I walk away from the booth. That's my assigned line if the date is going well. There's silence on the other end of the phone. "Cindy? The date's going great! Thanks for setting this up." 

A few seconds pass, and still no answer. "Cindy? Hello?" I hear quiet sniffling on the other end and then a muffled, "Help." The call disconnects. I hurry back to Alex's table and tell him we have to go immediately. 

"Slow down, what happened?" 

"I don't know, I just heard her say she needs help." My mouth is dry and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. Cindy has been my friend since we were toddlers; I panic at the thought of losing her. Alex drives us to her house in his 2015 Mustang; I open the door and rush out before he's fully stopped. 

"Jesus," I hear him mutter under his breath. I ring the doorbell and wait about two seconds before frantically opening the door and stepping inside. Alex follows closely behind me. "Cindy?" I yell around the first floor. I take a peek in her backyard, her kitchen, and her family room before running up her winding staircase. 

"Are you hom-" I stop in my tracks when I pass the master bathroom door. The door is cracked open about a foot wide and I see Cindy laying on the ground, blood dripping down her legs. 

"Oh my God," Alex says, and rushes over to her, "What happened?"

Cindy's eyes flutter open; she's about to pass out from the pain. "I think I lost my baby," she whispers.

Day 6: Days of Our Lives

Grab the book, magazine, or newspaper nearest you and open up to a random page. Start your story with the first line at the top of the page and end your story with the last line at the bottom of the page.

I absolutely love this prompt idea! I'm taking my lines from the book Love Me Anyway by Tiffany Hawk, page 148. It's an excellent novel!


She feels his lips brush against her ear. "Morning, babe," he mumbles.

"I am not your babe." Without saying another word, Carletta slips out of bed and gets dressed. 

"Come on, don't be like that," he moans. So much for taking a day off to find myself, Carletta thinks to herself. She was supposed to visit all the places she's never seen in the city she's lived in her entire life. Instead, however, she ended up going to a bar and waking up in bed with a man whose name she doesn't know. Funny how often this seems to happen. 

Sitting on the edge of a stranger's bed, Carletta contemplates her life as a retail store manager. She dropped out of college because she just wanted to be a writer. But then, she kept getting rejected from publishing companies and gave up. It had been almost two years since she gave writing another shot, and she missed it. 

Maybe yesterday wasn't what she needed to find herself. But today she knew what she needed to do. Carletta leaves without saying goodbye (the man has fallen back asleep anyway) and takes a cab to the opposite side of town to her one bedroom apartment. It's all that she can afford. She sits down to her laptop to write for the first time in ages. She isn't even sure where to start but she knows she needs to if she wants to turn her life around. 

It takes her quite some time to come up with a unique idea for a story, but once she gets going it's like she never stopped writing. Her delicate fingers fly gracefully and aimlessly over each key for hours at a time until a few days later, she has a few chapters to take to publishing companies.

Carletta is a nervous wreck as she walks into a few different businesses and drops off her manuscript. She's scared to face rejection again, but she's even more scared that she'll fall into a pit of self loathing and alcoholism if she gets rejected too many times again. Carletta isn't used to rejection from men--in fact, she gets asked out a few times every day at her day job--so when Carletta got rejected from the first company she submitted her work to, she was devastated. It was difficult to realize that her dreams would be harder to achieve than she had initially thought. So like she had with everything else in her life, she gave up and settled for something she hated. 

But this time is different; she can feel it. This time there will be no stopping her. She will take her work to every publisher in the country if she has to and if no one takes it, she'll self-publish. Nothing will bring her down. 

A month passes and she hasn't heard back from a published yet. She's continued doing her day job but now, instead of going out and drinking, she gets out her laptop and writes. Writing helps her vent; she hasn't had the urge to drink or smoke since she started going home right after work. She keeps telling herself that it doesn't matter if she never gets published; she's doing this for herself. 

Slowly but surely, Carletta retreats back to her old ways. Not one company has called her back after four months. At least when they called to tell her they hated it, she knew it was over. 


If she were on Days Of Our Lives, it would be time for the camera to move in for her close-up where she would say, "I've arrived."

Day 5: The Phone Call

Your phone rings in the middle of the night. An indiscernible voice speaks: “There is a car waiting for you outside. Get inside. You don’t want to ignore this.” Your spouse rolls over, eyes squinting, and says, “Everything okay?” What happens next?


"May I have your attention please, ladies and gentleman? Flight 94 to Toronto is about to begin loading. Please begin filing a line behind the flight attendant in red."

I gently tap my husband who has fallen asleep on my shoulder during our four hour layover. "Babe, wake up." I grab our carry-on bags and get in line while my husband yawns and stretches his arms above his head like an actor in a sleeping pill commercial. Sitting next to me on the plane is a burly man with a leather jacket and sunglasses on. He looks like a member of Hell's Angels, minus the motorcycle and embroidering on his back. He mumbles inaudibly to himself when he finds out he'll have to share his aisle space with someone else.

"Hello," I say with a bright smile; I definitely don't want to get on this guy's bad side, "What brings you to Toronto?" He looks up at me and then returns to his phone without giving an answer.

I raise my shoulders to my husband and whisper, "I tried." He chuckles and takes his seat. I wake up a couple hours later to find the mystery man beside me in the same position scrolling through some sort of coding on his phone. Curiosity gets the better of me, as usual, so I slowly lean to the side to see if I can get a better look at what he's doing. He must have sensed me getting closer, because suddenly he switches off his phone and stands up. When he makes it to the lavatory, I tell my husband about the codes, and he tells me that there's been a security breech in the Social Security branch; hackers gained access to thousands of SSA records and the FBI is trying to hunt them down. "But I'm sure that guy has nothing to do with it," he adds, and settles back in his seat for a nap.

An hour later, we arrive at our destination. My husband is here for business and I came along because I needed a vacation from the kids back home. Carl and I have been married for seven years and have two beautiful sons. This is the first time we have left them for more than a day, and even though they're safe with my parents, I haven't stopped worrying since we left for the airport.

Traveling takes all the energy out of my husband, so as soon as we get to the hotel Carl passes out on the king-size bed without bothering to pull down the covers. I snuggle in next to him, excited to finally have a few nights without the kids. While Carl quietly snores next to me, I read the local newspaper and a few magazines left in our hotel room. I begin dozing off just as the phone on the wooden nightstand rings.

"There is a car waiting for you outside. Get inside. You don't want to ignore this." Click.

My mind searches for a possible solution to what I just heard while my husband awakens and says, "Everything okay?"

I question whether or not I should tell him about the call; at this point, I'm not even sure that I'm going to go out to the car. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. That was just the hotel desk telling me I left my wallet downstairs. Go back to sleep."

A few minutes later, Carl falls asleep again, and I slowly climb out of bed, my heart pounding. I'm raking through every possible conclusion to who could be calling. Did they have the wrong number? Did someone overhear my conversation about the hackers? Was the man on the phone the same man sitting next to me on the plane? If so, what do I have to do with anything?

A yellow Mustang awaits me when I go through the revolving door of the hotel. A man dressed in black gets out of the driver's seat and opens the back door for me. All of my questions for the driver go unanswered. Twenty minutes later, we arrive in front of a huge glass building. The parking lot is empty except for another yellow Mustang identical to the one I arrived here in.

"Come with me," the man in black says. I nervously follow behind him as we go up two flights of stairs and through a narrow hallway without any doors except for one at the very end. When I enter, the man from the plane is sitting at one end of a very long conference table.

"Have a seat," he says, "and tell me everything you know about what you saw on my phone today." Suddenly, two large men appear from the dark corners of the room carrying guns.

My heart stops. "I don't know what you're talking about. All I saw were some numbers but I didn't know what they meant. I didn't mean to cause any trouble." I shoot him my best innocent smile, but I can tell by his demeanor that he's not falling for it.

"Come on, let's go," the driver says to me, pulling me out of my chair and down another long hallway just like the first.

This time when I enter the room the first thing I see is Carl.

"Oh my God, they have you too? What is going on?" I rush over to him but suddenly he lifts his arms from under the table and aims a gun at me.

And that's when I realize Carl is in charge.

Day 4: Split Second

“I wasn’t planning on this. Falling in love with you was the last thing I wanted. Because I know our time would have to come to end. Yet, here I am, begging you not to turn the page.” Who is the speaker and who is the speaker talking to? 

In this moment, all I can hear is his slow breath on my neck and his soft heartbeat on my chest. This is what true happiness feels like. 

"I can only stay for five more minutes," I murmur.

"It's only 7 o'clock. Why do you have to go so soon?" Charles' deep, groggy voice fills his apartment bedroom.

"I just have some work to do, that's all." Lie.

The truth is, my husband will be home from work at eight. Yes, that's right. I'm married. But it's not how it sounds, I promise. The person I'm married to is not a man--he's a monster. The days when we were dating were magical; I wouldn't trade them for the world. But the person he became as soon as our honeymoon began--possessive, dominating, and violent--is not the man I knew in the beginning of our relationship. 

Mark and I have been married for almost two years. Two years of threats and bruises is not quite the happily ever after I was looking for. I'd started to give up on love until I met Charles a few months ago when I was going dancing with some friends. My friends were so proud of themselves for convincing me to go out, when really, it was Mark who needed convincing. It took me days to gain the trust I needed from him to have one fun night without him. 

The funny thing is, when all the abuse started, I was offended that Mark thought I would cheat. But then I realized his possessiveness is about power, not his opinion of me. So I danced with Charles the entire evening, and at the end of the night, when he asked for a date, I could not give him my number quickly enough. Of course, Mark goes through my work phone so I have a cheap spare that I use just for contact with Charles. 

When I arrive home from my evening with Charles, I find Mark sitting on the couch waiting for me. He hasn't seen me yet, so I tiptoe back out the door, hoping for an escape. But it's too late. 

"Where were you?" Mark commands.

"I was just finishing up at the office, honey," I gulp.

"Wrong. The office said you left three hours ago." Why do I even bother lying? 

"OK, OK. If you must know, I'm planning you a surprise party. I was out ordering the cake and buying some supplies. Gosh, why can't you let me surprise you just once?" I fake a smile. His birthday is coming up in a few months, so that lie has to be somewhat believable.

Remarkably, Mark isn't the mood for any bickering tonight. He sighs and goes to the bedroom. I breathe a sigh of relief and follow him in.

The next day, Mark leaves for a business trip in Chicago. Luckily for me, that means two whole days to spend with Charles without any fear. We've been seeing each other for a few months, and since there's no chance of Mark being home, I invite Charles over to my place for the first time. Every photo of Mark and I hides in the garage, as well as all his clothes and personal belongings that could tip Charles off. I swore to myself that tonight would be the night I would tell him the complete truth. Charles doesn't deserve to be lied to everyday. He's too good of a man for that. 

That night, I leave Charles in the bedroom while I go out to make coffee. Five minutes later, I push open the door carrying two mugs. 

"Alright, black coffee for you of course. And for me, four sugars and-" I stop in my tracks. There sits Charles holding my marriage certificate in his hand, looking more confused than a deer in the headlights.

"What is this?" Charles asks, a hopeful expression in his eyes. 

"Please don't look at that," I say, rushing over to him and spilling scalding hot coffee down my arms and onto the white rug. 

"Whose marriage license is this? Your parents'?" Here goes nothing. 

"I wasn’t planning on this. Falling in love with you was the last thing I wanted. Because I know our time would have to come to end. Yet, here I am, begging you not to turn the page."

"Sweetie, what on earth are you talking about?" It only took a split second for Charles' face to transform from frazzled to concerned to total disappointment. He didn’t need to turn the page to realize what this means. It only took a split second for him to see through all the lies, a split second for my happiness to come crashing to a halt. 

The floodgates open. The tears fall so heavily I cannot see in front of me. The lump in my throat feels like I swallowed a boulder; the knot in my stomach gets tighter and tighter with each breath I take. 

"Please let me explain," I sob. I reach out for his hand, expecting him to move it from my reach. But he doesn't, and just like the first time I ever touched him, I feel a spark so strong between us, and I realize how goddamn selfish I am. 

Despite all the lies I've told him, Charles, the most patient man alive, stays by my side while I tell him everything. I tell him about Mark--the happy memories as well as the situation I'm currently facing. I tell him how, at first, being with him was a spontaneous adventure, but now I'm in love and I have no idea what I'm doing. I tell him how every minute I spend with him gives me strength to get me through every minute I must endure with Mark. 

At the end of it all, Charles smiles. "Run away with me," he says, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear. 

"What? But that's so dangerous. Not just for me.. he could hurt you. I couldn't live with myself if--"

"Hey, don't be like that. It will be OK; I won't let anything happen to you. The truth is, I got offered a promotion in Tampa today. I was going to ask you to come with me anyway," he says, blushing. And just like that, my life begins to turn around. In ten minutes, I'm packed and ready to go; I'm free. We hold hands as I close the door of my house for the last time. When the door clicks shut, I tuck the key under the doormat. Here we go. 

Charles and I are almost to the driveway when, for the second time in an hour, my happiness comes screeching to a halt. 

"Jess? Is that you? Who is that with you?" 

We freeze in place. 

It's Mark. 


Prompt: Writer's Digest