Writing to pass time

My flatmate has a Writer's Toolbox: a set of creative games to inspire writing. Today, she asked me if I wanted to have a go. Having worn out my poor arms with a "yoga" video (it was not yoga but push-ups! I feel cheated), I gladly obliged. We used a three-minute timer for each card: the three cards form the titles of my prosaic, poetic paragraphs.



My Mother’s Pearls

We went to the beach and opened every oyster we could find, the hard pebbles digging into our toes and the salty taste of the fresh, blustery wind beating at our cold faces.

My mother had taken me out to search the beach for pearls for as long as I could remember. I could see it in my mind’s eye, my windswept, toddler’s hair.


The Sound of The Surgeon’s Footsteps

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… You’re under. Except that I’m not under. My eyes are shut but I can hear the sound of the surgeon’s footstepts tapping their way along the corridor. I hear him say “scalpel” and then I can feel it slicing into my abdomen. Cutting away whatever the problem with my stomach is. I want to scream “I’m awake”.


Blue Index Cards

I ask the librarian where to find the books on fertility. She rifles through the blue index cards. I see the lines of blue and I wish that the pregnancy test could emulate them. We’ve been trying so hard. It’s been nothing but sex everty time I’ve ovulated for six months. I hope one of these index cards can be the path to a pregnancy, a successful one this time, and a happy, healthy baby.

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