Write in the style of a writer you admire — just the opening paragraph of a short story or the first stanza of a poem. Be sure to state the name of the author at the bottom of your piece. [Photo: Hanah Grace, Unsplash]
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So, we sat in the house all that cold, cold wet day. I sat there with Sally. We sat there, we two. And I said, “How I wish we had something to do!” Too wet to go out and too cold to play ball. So we sat in the house. We did nothing at all.
Swallowed under the waves created by your deepest regrets, you never went up for a single breath. Tsunamis emerged from the worst parts of you, shattering down towns nearby you. The streets flooded with your tears, tears made from the worst of your fears. The bottom was dark, the waves restless, and your shoulders sagged from an invisible weight. You chose one day to break the surface. Little by little, day by day, you went up to feel the sun kiss your cheeks, until it unfurled your toes and directed your feet to the nearest shore. Opening your eyes to the chaos that’d swept by, you walked timidly to the nearest building and fixed the first jagged crevice on the wall. Though the waves called back for you, pursuing you with the strongest of tides to pull you under, you continued on to mend the patches of the damaged towns and rebuild a new foundation for yourself. ----
Basketball #21. It’s always #21 no matter where I am or what I’m doing. Everyone thinks it’s funny, like not replacing your lucky shoes or not shaving your legs. I get on the court to warm up before practice, 21 crossovers, 21 jump shots, 21 layups, 21 foul shots, 21 three pointers. By the time I’m done with my warmups I see her, Taya, the only girl keeping me away from the varsity team.
If I could just be better and work harder I would easily take her spot on varsity. I watch her warm up from the sidelines while I pound 21 dribbles into the floor on each side. She hits everything, not one miss. I start to feel like I have no chance of making varsity until I remember, I didn’t miss any shots either. I might have a chance. Inspired by Tamara Ireland Stone’s every last word.
The current whirled around The scaly legs Of a Spinosaurus A triumphant fisherman Whose long teeth sank into a sawfish The river stained red
In a deep cave Set high in the Romanian mountains The only moving thing Was the chest of a sleeping bear Its cavernous lungs filled with air As the beast lay dormant
Wind swept across the plains Grass brushed against The smooth armor Of a large armadillo A walking boulder Amid a sea of green
A cry filled the valley As the Saltasaurus bellowed The sound vibrating through its long neck This noise meant life For she was laying a clutch Of dozens of eggs Pebbled volleyballs Dropping into soft soil To continue a legacy