Author name: Jessie

The laptop snapped closed with definitive click. The restaurant guide I was working on for Seattle was nearly complete. I often said I had the best job in the world. I would go to a new city, eat at the best restaurants, and then write about my experience. Travel, food, and writing–three of my favorite things all wrapped into one fantastic job that I was paid to do.

I tried to integrate everything into my review–the food, the atmosphere, and the nameless element that gave each place its own unique flavor. I wanted to draw the reader into each piece she wrote. I wanted the readers to experience exactly what I experienced, so that even if they never visited the restaurant, they would be able to live vicariously through me. And if they did visit, well, I wanted to ensure they would know what to expect.

Luckily I never really had to write bad reviews. The class of restaurant I reviewed was always outstanding.

Writing prompts: laptop, guide, integrate

The chime attached to the door rang softly, alerting me that someone had entered.  I glanced at the clock and saw it was just five minutes to closing.  I sighed as I put on a smile and moved to greet the customer.  A warm reception made the customers more likely to buy something and return later.  However I was still hoping that this would be quick.

“Hello, sir, how may I help you?” I asked.  He was tall; taller than me and I’m a tall woman.  I felt dainty standing next to him, a feeling I don’t get very often.  Without my heels, my head would probably just reach his chin.

He had a classically handsome face–strong chin, full lips, straight nose, and dark gray eyes.  His eyes were what captured me.  Such an unusual color meant he definitely had some magic in his blood, but they were so cold I physically shivered.  This man was up to no good.

Finally, he spoke.  “Where is your destruction section?”  His voice was deep and rolled over me in a wave.

“I’m sorry, sir.  This is a white shop, we don’t carry such things.”  Destructive magic, charms and potions included, took quite the toll on both the creator and the user.  It just wasn’t worth it to me to take such a risk with my soul.  Plus, destructive magic was closely controlled and monitored by the government.  Unauthorized use was highly illegal.

“Come now, I’m sure you have something.  I’m quite willing to pay whatever you’re asking.”  His tone had taken on a slight edge of menace.

“Sir, I promise you, there is no destructive magic here.  There aren’t any secret rooms or hidden panels.  I use and sell white magic only.  You should try Reynold’s place in the square.  He’s licensed and sells all types of magic.”

Writing prompts:  chime, reception, destruction

I quietly sipped my tea, hoping the caffeine would boost my energy enough for me to make it through the rest of the day.  I was falling asleep at my desk and that wasn’t good for two reasons.  One, while my job was boring and meaningless, it still paid the bills.  If my boss found me sleeping then I’d have to find a new job.  The second was that I had a certain amount of work I needed to get done today and sleeping was not getting it done.  I had absolutely zero desire to stay late, so the caffeine had better work.

As an aspiring author I thought an editing job would be a dream come true.  Granted it was for the local paper rather for a big publishing house, but I figured editing was editing.  How wrong I was.  I spent my day reading drivel–poorly written drivel.  All day I changed their to they’re or two to too.  It was no wonder that I was falling asleep.

The tea leaves in the bottom of my cup made an interesting contrast against the creamy porcelain.  I briefly wondered what the leaves would mean to someone who could read them.  Was my life getting ready for a big change?  No change at all?  A tragedy or celebration?

I realized that I had once again drifted away from work.  A sigh slid through me.  I really needed a new job.  This one was killing what little creativity I had.

Writing prompts: author, energy, tea

I watched the children run and play on the playground, thankful for the break.  It was hard to find time to play during war and most days were spent inside listening for the air raid sirens.  This morning’s advisement had said it was safe to venture out, so the children were allowed to have recess outside.

It was the first time many of them had been in the sun for nearly a month, as most took the subway tunnels to get to class.  The subway trains were long since lost, but the tunnels had turned into pedestrian thoroughfares.  The tunnel had been extended to reach the school basement once it became clear the war would not be ending anytime soon.

The school was severely understaffed, as most people, teachers included, fled the cities.  I was the only first grade teacher that remained.  It would normally be difficult for one teacher to teach an entire grade by herself, but there were only fifteen kids in my class.  Some were the children of military officials and the diplomats who were required to stay in the city; others were the children of poor families that couldn’t afford to live anywhere else.

I stayed because I could.  I didn’t have extended family that needed me and my parents were lost in the first years of the air raids.  I could’ve moved to the country, but I was needed here and so I stayed.  The few teachers that were left were allowed to stay at the school, safely hidden away in the basement.  I had abandoned my apartment after the raids became so frequent that I would have to get up almost every night to seek shelter.

As if called by my thoughts, the shrill shriek of the air raid sirens pierced the air.  We all froze momentarily in disbelief; today was supposed to be safe.

“Come on children, everyone inside!”  I shouted as I moved to make sure no one was left behind.  The distant boom of bombs hitting hastened my steps.  I looked to the other teacher who was counting the children as they entered.  All were accounted for.

I ran for the door as the bombs neared.  I flew inside and barred the door behind me as feeble protection.  The children knew the drill well and moved obediently towards the basement.  The teachers brought up the rear and checked the upstairs rooms as we passed.  All were locked as they should be since class was no longer held where the children would be at risk.

The rumble of bombs shook the building as we finally herded the children into the shelter below.  The children were allowed to play to keep their minds off of what was happening above.  If the raid didn’t end soon, classes would resume as much as we were able, though leaving the shelter for the classrooms would not be possible.

So far the school had been lucky and had not been directly hit.  All of the teachers prayed our luck would hold as the bombs neared.  We found the emergency flashlights and rations that we always stored here.  We also had an emergency beacon and radio that could be used if we were hit.

We had power from the main lines running through the subway tunnels and a backup generator hidden deep in the basement, but if both failed, the flashlights would be our only light until we were found.  Each child also carried two glow sticks at all times.

The first stick was a traditional glow stick that needed to be snapped to start the reaction.  These would glow brightly and would provide enough light to see by.  These were checked daily but some children just couldn’t resist the urge to snap them as soon as possible.  That is why the second stick was used.  It always emitted a dim glow and didn’t need to be snapped for the reaction to occur.  This allowed us to find the children even if their first glow stick failed or had already been used.

The building shook enough to make me stumble and I looked up at the dust drifting down on us.  I met the other teachers’ eyes.  Too close.

“Class, why don’t you play over here?” I asked, keeping my voice calm.  I was trying to get them to move closer to the wall and the other teachers were doing the same.

Writing prompts:  play, teach, war