Why be careful what you wish for?

Same dealio as usual. I'm linking up to Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus in which every week we are provided a prompt to use and must create a story using the prompt (completely as is) and up to 100 more words from our own minds. 


The prompt this week is: He never dreamed when he blew the candles out on his cake...


I've titled my entry, Wish Granted. 
The prompt is used in bold. 
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Wish Granted

Collin was happy. Not because it was his 13th birthday, because he knew this would be the year Molly would become his girlfriend. Over his cake, he spotted her; her eyes sparkling in the sunlight, her hair dancing in the wind before softly landing on her Twilight t-shirt. He took a deep breath, and made his wish. 

He never dreamed when he blew the candles out on his cake, that it would be his last breath. Well, human breath anyway. As the smoke dissipated so did Collin's skin color. Transformed and with a sudden self-confidence, he flashed Molly his new pearly fangs, and confessed his love. Her response?

"Sorry, I'm Team Jacob."
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~Lissa

Does this even make sense?

Never has a 100 words seemed as hard it did this week. Too much story and needed character background made this Centus pushing upwards of almost 200 words. With each painful delete not only did I feel the story losing its charm but also it's comprehension. With a lot of reworking it was finally widdled down to 100 with a small bit of everything I wanted say. But now I'm left saying, does this even make sense? Hopefully everything came through, but I'll let you be the judge. 

Below is my Centus this week. The prompt was: "This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

Same rules apply as usual. No pictures, no vulgarity, the prompt must be used as is, in it's entirety, and your story should not be over 100 words (excluding the word count of the prompt.)

I've titled my Centus, Best. Day. EVER. and the prompt is used in bold. 

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Best. Day. EVER.

I sat silently below on the antique rug, teased by the steak precariously balancing on Eloise's rattling fork. Barbeque, sweating off. 

"Not experienced enough?!... I RAN the company before I got pregnant!" shouted Eloise.

"We have a certain image to uphold Sis, and well...look at you..." Emma scoffed walking into another part of her picture perfect house. 

Eloise defiantly dumped her plate, delivering me the steak!

Heaven sent, I devoured every bite, but the barbeque left a brown stain behind.

Eloise snickered. "This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet. Pushing it deeper. Sure, I'd be blamed for the stain, but for that moment, we were both happy. 

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~Lissa

Have you forgotten?

This week's prompt for the Saturday Centus is, as I saw it, and most others, in tribute to September 11th. 9 years later, the act, and breadth of pain it caused, are still unimaginable and unexplainable. 

Never Forget

The prompt is: I stood frozen in front of the flickering images on my TV. 

Same rules apply as usual. You must use the prompt as is, and your story should be 100 words or less, not including the prompt. This week however, we are allowed to post one picture. 

My entry is below, with the prompt used in bold. It's titled, How Can I Forget?.

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How Can I Forget?

Every time my eyes close the nightmare returns. I can smell the dust of death and debris, feel the smoke burning my eyes, and hear the chaotic screams of pure horror and agonizing sorrow. After 9 years, I expected footage of that fateful day to replay on my TV as customary. I wasn't expecting to see home videos of my sister and I, and my mother crippling in anguish below them. 

As the sounds of our childhood laughter echoed, I stood frozen in front of the flickering images on my TV. My sister enlisted in the army after the attacks. She fought in Iraq and died in combat. 9/11's death count continues...

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This was fictional but I did want to aim my Centus to remind us to not only pay tribute to those who died that day, but also all who died as a result. May 9/11's death toll end soon. 

~Lissa

Do you accept make up homework?

So, I've been pretty bad at this. I've missed the last two Saturday Centuses (Centus'? Centus's? How do you make it plural?). For one reason or another I haven't been able to show up for Saturday morning's "class." Rather than claim illness, as I did in kindergarten to get out of tying my shoes in front of the entire class when I didn't know how to and was PERFECTLY content with the idea of velcro shoes for the rest of my life, I will just come clean and say, I just never got around to it. I was busy, and probably not busier than any of you are, but I just never got around to it. So, as this week is about to end, my procrastination has finally come to smack me in the face and tell me we are through. 

Two assignments passed, and one more almost gone, I've come up with a crazy solution to make me feel as if I haven't missed anything. I'm going to do them all, and do them all in one, without ever breaking the rules. 

What this means is, I will be participating in this weeks Saturday Centus, and simultaneously, be participating in the past two weeks as well. 

This weeks prompt (week 18) was: It was a dark and scary night.
That will be included in my story, unaltered and in bold. 

Last week's prompt (week 17) was: Take any SC story, yours or someone elses, and write another 100 words to tell us the rest of the story.
So I've chosen my first SC entry from week 12, Starting Over Again, which I will repost below in italics, and will continue the story and tie it in with "It was a dark and stormy night". 

And lastly, The week before THAT (week 16): Write about your summer vacation, fact or fiction, exactly 100 words, written in first person, with the title What I did over Summer Vacation. 
Which means, I will title it, What I did over Summer Vacation, and position the entire story to fit the title and be in first person. 

Whew.
Here we go. My make up work. I'll report early to class tomorrow.

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What I did over Summer Vacation

There's no need to be nervous. Right?

With each passing mile the nerves become harder to ignore. 

"Everything'll be fine." I say as I glance at Charles in the passengers seat, wrapped tightly in a blanket. 

But of course, he doesn't respond. Huh, I guess nothing's really changed. 

Driving six hours is a long time on the road. Six hours spent singing car-oake and taking in the picturesque scenery, but mostly reminiscing about the good times. But those days were long gone and my mind was in a different place now. Or was it?

My pulse quickened as I passed the road sign which read, "Medford 27 miles."

An insignificant swamp town of 400, to most Medford isn't worth opening your eyelids for. To me, it means a chance at a new life. 

It'll all be over soon. 

I smile. 

"Like swamps Charlie?" I poke his lifeless body. "Good! That's where you'll meet the last guy who cheated on me."

I turn back to the road. 

15 more miles, speeding, my mind drifts.

It was a dark and stormy night.  

His hot cocoa -cold, the fire -burnt out. I was tired of waiting. 

In the rain, I looked for him. 

He was with her, cuddling in a cafe, "working late."

When he came home I kissed him passionately with my shovel. Three times. 

Blinding blue and red lights snap me back to the present. 

The siren fades, drowned out by my heartbeat. 

I pull over. 

Frozen. 

I didn't want to spend my summer this way. 

My hand slithers down and grips the shotgun by my feet. 

Click.


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~Lissa