A spark is not created without friction. Often writers feel the urge to write but become overwhelmed by the first sentence. Like a nervous seventh grader at a dance, hesitation prevents my potential. My words seize to flow forth. In times like these, I look to writing prompts to be my spark. Writing prompts enable me to create messy, gritty pieces of work and sometimes develop into my proudest stories.
In the midst of finishing my rough draft of an eerie steampunk short story, ideas for future stories continue to whirl around in my mind. One such idea involves a steampunk western about a boy attempting to define his identity. When I saw the following writing prompt, I was drawn to it and knew it would result in an inspirational spark. I hope you enjoy it.
BANG! The shot was direct and unforgiving. Blood splattered across the dirt. Vick slumped over to his side as his life ended. Miriam let out a sob as she dropped her rifle. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of the coming storm.
“You don’t have to do this…” His final words haunted her. But she did have to do this; the law of the land dictated such.
Miriam wiped the tears from her cheeks. There was no use in crying over Vick any longer. He was on his way to Hell, and his sin had sent him there.
Retrieving her rifle, Miriam walked towards Vick’s lifeless body. Her sadness was replaced with anger. Memories of all those sorrowful nights and Vick’s endless excuses surfaced. Miriam had cared for Vick with all of her being. Regardless, Vick didn’t reciprocate her love and instead sought the attention of Mr. Whitaker’s widow.
Looking at her ex-lover’s corpse, Miriam acknowledged you could do everything right and it still can end up wrong. With the butt of her rifle, she tipped up Vick’s tan cowboy hat. The breeze brushed back his dark locks in the same way Miriam did when Vick would come home. All the love she had for Vick seemed to die when he did. The law was right, and justice was justice. With that, Miriam spat in his face.
“We get what we deserve,” Miriam whispered.
Feeling the wind change, Miriam knew she had to leave or the impending storm would make her join Vick in the afterlife. She returned to her horse and companion, Jack, ready to leave the past behind her. Upon mounting her quarter horse, Miriam looked across the dust covered horizon.
“Come on, Jack. We’re done here.”
Until next post,