writing prompts #2 & #3

#2- thunderstorms

there's a thunderstorm going on outside. this type of weather always frightened me as a child, the heavy rain, the unexpected boom. if i ever got caught in a thunderstorm, i would walk around with my hands covering my head, as if i could shield myself from the weather by holding up my hands to the sky, and saying, "no!"

i once saw a flash of lightning hit my father's car. it lay next to my aunt's house, dormant, as we sat on the patio and enjoyed the coolness of the summer rain. suddenly, there was a crash, and the automobile sprang to life, lights flashing, alarms blaring.

i always felt like that car. still, dead, waiting for someone to spontaneously come into my life and wake me up with a jolt.

in eight grade, our science teacher taught us that thunder is composed of energy, and that everything gave off an energy that thunder was attracted to. even humans had a stream of positive light beaming from the top of their head. thunder did not strike you- there is a compromise that happens, a joining of positive and negative energy in the sky.


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#3- sad attempt @ erotica

there is a spot on the railing where the enamel has worn off from too much rubbing.

i have heard them call her lazy, even slow, but i know that she would rather watch, enjoy time instead of letting life pass her by. i used to be the same way, before the dullness of the dark house began to rob me of the joys in life. i used to marvel at every detail of life, the way that music can

...

now i just sit and watch her. marvel at how beautiful and expressive her face is when doing her chores, watch sweat drip from her brow as she twists her face in concentration, making sure every spot of dirt is off of the floor. she spends a lot of time on the stairwell, lightly running her fingers down the rail, searching for a spot of dirt she missed. and lately, i have noticed her watching me.

so i perform for her. i dance around the living room in exaggerated movements, trying to make her smile. i whirl my dress around me, and sometimes drag my hem up my calf slowly, waiting to hear a scandalized gasp. i can never fully shock her, though, instead she stares at me in amusement from her post at the bottom of the railing.

today i held out a brush to her, daring her to take it.

...

sometimes she whispers secrets to me. not in words, but through her fingers on my scalp, making the hairs on my nape stand with the stories that she tells me.