So time moves forward not backwards, unless your from a different planet right? Well how do you make the most out of your time when your bored, not feeling well or just stuck in a “I don’t want to do anything mood?” My suggestion is this, think of what you can do to help someone else. It can be as simple as asking a neighbor if they need anything from the grocery store to starting a community fund raiser to feed the needy. There, I’ve come up with a short story line for a suggestion on how to improve your down time.

He was Haverford, a name that left him no options but to become an aspiring writer — aspiring because he couldn’t finish a single story. No publisher would accept his finely crafted “Partial Works,” even when he branded it Borgesian PoMo-chic. So Haverford turned to business (above all skilled at embarking on, and endlessly sustaining, new ventures) and began selling his “narrative fractions at fractional prices (guaranteed!),” filling a warehouse with looms of prose, isles of story arcs, but absolutely no denoue—

The low southwesterly already blazing through that front glass. The large metal bowl out the industrial freezer, matte grey and iced to the tips, her mornings began. Forcing geometries about the paper carton, Heavy Whipping Cre- the mixer’s slow hum drown out the dailies. Down the hallway, past the half-n-half and crooked toilet door, she took to the whisking patiently, black hair, pulled up. Lines out front, chocolate scones and coffee needing. Two tablespoons to the taste, until always soft peaks.

“I’ll be seeing you,” is what I said to her when I left the newspaper on her doorstep. She, being my grandmother. And, me, living with her. I was heading out on my skateboard, no plan in mind, except to just go. Grandmother didn’t like it when I went off like this, but, she let me anyway saying, “boys will be boys”. She didn’t know it was my last skateboard ride ever- the driver never seeing me, nor I him.

Debris falls from the sky. Women, children, fathers stare from the dim light of windows. Sirens oscillate, bounce around throughout the valley, telling the story they all know: their last hope at salvation was disintegrating brilliantly in the atmosphere. Folks begin to wander, breathing in the ash, staring in disbelief at the dismal scene. A little girl tugs at a hand– Mommy? What does this mean? Is this…? The mother looks absently through hazy eyes at her daughter, again at the sky.

Greg stared at his boss’s slouched reflection in the window next to his desk, disinterested in her work.
“I’m sorry, she’s unavailable, may I take a mess…?” but was interrupted by a click. He did not resent the caller, but rather his limited capacity.
She stared back at the window’s reflection and caught him with both hands moving over his face, up through his hair, having been beset by such inquiries all day.
“Let’s grab a drink,” she decided.

First time in Russell’s kitchen I find everything needed for my famous pancakes. Even the lemon extract (my secret ingredient). I measure and whisk while humming ‘I Could’ve Danced All Night.’ I can still feel him holding me, leading me, dancing with me. My smile won’t fade.
“Maple syrup, please,” I want an excuse to touch.
Russell hands me a bottle of thick brown plastic.
“That’s not the real stu…”
My music stops. I frown. Who is this guy?

4:45 pm. A tinny foghorn sounds. Ah, new email. My phone’s message light suddenly blinks. I know it’s Molly. I’m working late-yet again.

Once I ‘missed’ one of her 5 pm messages. Who knew you could be verbally eviscerated.

“Joan, toni-….”

I need to go; my mystery novel beckons. Oh, my villain. She can verbally abuse you one minute, then let it go so quickly that her next words come out cotton-candy sweet. Her name is…Polly.

Katie’s here, Jeff’s email announced. No words just this photograph.
I see him first. Jeff…but different. My Jeff’s befuddled. This one’s confident, complete. His hand rests on his sleeping son’s legs. Marjorie cradles the newborn, whose swaddled feet brush the boy’s head.
Marjorie has a steely beauty, a sweetness in her half smile. Her right arm disappears behind blanketed legs. I imagine her hand on his, completing the connection.
My rival? Ach, whom am I kidd-?

“I really shouldn’t be alive,” I exclaimed to my brother. “I swear, I should have died.”
I picked up my plate, which once held my favorite in the world (angel hair pasta with garlic and butter, as long as it’s cooked by my mother).
He was silent. Perhaps we’d talked of this subject too much.
Reaching the door, I looked back as I heard him say, “You’re on The Truman Show.”
My heart smiled; I felt .6 more alive.

Long ago, when the world really was flat, and people knew of different things than they do today, a wild-eyed wonder man stepped out of the abyss to teach the learned something new. He spoke with grand gestures, detailing a place unlike any the sophisticates in that complex (and, at that time, ultramodern) world had known. His was the language of a time traveller, chock full of slang and gutter-pop–condensed words like LOL and TTYL. Because they did not understand, they shot him. OMFG.

Bang!

“Whu-?”

The cheap glass panes of the window rattled in aftershock. She searched blindly for her glasses and crawled up to the sill, digging sleep from the corners of her eyes. The neighbors, she deduced, were not murdering each other; no cars idled in the driveway.

She rubbed her fingers into her eyelids and looked again, tops of houses and trees blurring and refocusing into the greasy outline of a face, wings, a fat body. She looked down.

Pigeon on the bricks.

We were on our way to the greatest black light party of the year. Olivia and I had spent two hours preparing. We knew there were storms coming but still walked. We were about half way there when boom, a thunderstorm. We screamed, our bright white shirts not just soaked, but completely see though. We decided to run around, dance, and do cartwheels. Life’s not about waiting for the storm to pass, it is about learning to dance in the rain.

I wish someone told me….that I was a princess because I wish I never was. My name is Megan I live in the yin village, No one ever told me I was going to be the princess of the yin village I would’ve left town because I hate all this girly stuff, before I was told I was going to be princess of village yin I had great dreams of being a ninja. My dreams still will not fade away…..

Dig, shape, stack, repeat. Dig, shape, stack, repeat. This has been my life for many moons now. I ran away five months ago and need a shelter to live. Every mud hut I make gets washed away before I finish. It might be the gods way of punishing me for leaving, but I couldn’t say another minute. I will find my own way without the rules of my family, elders, and gods. What have the gods ever done for me? Nothing.

Lightning sizzling in its scabbard, just waiting to be drawn. And it would soon be streaking across the battlefield for my king. It would deliver William his kingdom, and me vast wealth. My reputation will be unforgettable as I conquer England for William, Duke of Normandy. We waited an eternity for the damn weather to calm, then our army sailed.
We stand in front of bastard Saxons now, and charge. Lightning screams as he’s drawn, to strike. Saxons couldn’t win.

My secret timer is ticking away; alarm I set every day, each morning this alarm can’t tell time; it alarms by emotion. My emotions I cannot feel slowly count down to my limits of breakdown. Living with an alarm isn’t normal; it’s a sickness that lives inside me. Going through a day of worry is a day wasted in my mind. Shaking, heart raising, dizzy, I gasp for air; I told myself not today yet anxiety took me again.

With Margaret by my side we stealthily tip-toed through the eternally creaky front door of the ancient mansion I inherited from my late great aunt. What we first saw when we finally dared to enter was an unusually small door. My finger hadn’t even grazed the door when it swung open, revealing a small dingy mirror hanging from the wall. Afraid of getting too close, I peered into it from across the room and saw something I would never forget.

His name was Thernom Pewter Jackson he was 12 years old. Thernom went to Daffer Middle School also known as DMS. He was a normal boy, he studied math, and English just as all the other boys and girls in his class did. Even though he seemed as simple and plain as everyone else he had a secret, Thermon had a friend named Max, Max was his quiet secret that Thermon couldn’t talk about, no matter how much he wanted to.

Prompt: Weave a story around an old photograph.

This picture was taken in June, 2004. We were all at New Oxford High School graduation sitting on white chairs in the grueling heat watching each graduate walk across the stage. I sat there waiting for my sister to cross and when she finally did, I was ecstatic. It was hot, we were outside, and I just wanted to go for dinner. In this picture my sister and I are standing side by side. I was afraid that once she went to college she’d never come back. But she is now 25 and is engaged and getting married September, 2012. I was fretting about nothing; my sister is my best friend. (:

It was the perfect crime handed to them by letter. Their objective was to rob the First National Bank of Baltimore. They had to rob it within 18 hours or they would all be killed in horrible “accidents “. They started planning for the robbery but they discovered that the bank had an almost unbreakable security system. The leader asked how long until it was broken and was given an answer he didn’t want to hear. They decided to leave the city.

In the corner of a dusty antique shop, sits a little old radio with a broken antenna. Alone and forgotten, it thinks of the days when the family, together and happy, would gather around and listen intently. At six, Grandmother would twist its dials to find the news, and the children would wait eagerly until the night’s radio show was on.
But times changed, and the little old radio ended up in the corner, hiding away from those bigger and better.

Margret Mallory was on her evening stroll when all of a sudden a stranger quietly approached her. He said his name was Dan and that he was a wizard from the distant future. At this remark Margret couldn’t help but burst out in hysterical laughter. The man turned red with rage saying it was not polite to laugh at someone who could turn you into a toad. As the wizard started to speak desperately this time, he slowly started to vanish.

“ What do mean that Rowan went out on patrol?” Aria snapped, “ I told him not to! Doesn’t he know Arath is out there? LIKE HIDING SOMEWHERE?!” She screamed at Mike.

“ I… well you see…. There was nothing I could do to stop him… I wasn’t…” Poor Mike stuttered.

“ You idiots!” Aria mumbled. She closed her eyes, muttering curses. Aria’s hair was a mess, as she had been awake all night coming up with a battle plan. “ Go find him.”

My dog is black. She has a nose and some toes and a red collar too. She likes dog bones and biscuits but not her little shoes. The park is her favorite, the vet is not. She lays on air vents when it’s very hot. When there is storms with lighting that goes crack , she gets very distraught but she goes to to couch and curls up and that’s how I know it’s going to be Amy and me.

Everybody has that place, you know that place that you go to when you want to simply get away. Mine is paradise, its quiet, calm and all mine. It is my room, I go there when I have a lot on my plate. It is no secret island or anything like that but it is still paradise, my paradise. It is a place where I go to clear my head and simply be alone. I can’t help but to love it.

And that’s when the sadness hit. It was so all of sudden, even if you’ve been preparing for it for years. Losing someone will give you an ache in your chest causing you to wither away until you’re just a shell of your former self. You’ll think of all the times you had, some good some bad just wishing you could see their face just once more. I’ll never forget the nightmarish day I lost my mom.

I burst through the door, ushering through the front of my house. Exhausted, I flung my backpack onto one chair, flopping into another. Something nagged me in the back of my mind, like I was supposed to be checking something. Realization hit me, and my gaze slid uneasily over to my cellphone. Groaning, I slowly rose from the recliner and made my way over to the counter. Grabbing my phone, I checked the messages, knowing that “It’s over” would be there.

Laya stands so close to the edge. Snow falls silently to the ground around her. Her tears frozen to her face, and her midnight black hair swaying in the frosty breeze. She closes her eyes and remembers her better life. But it won’t save her now. Nothing will. She stands, knowing, no one is missing her. No one will come to save her. No one cares at all. She falls, everything is still. Her tears have stopped, her fear disappears. Blackness.

I went to my friend Ashleys house one day, and we decided to have a good time so we turned on music and danced until we both felt pretty sick. So then we got some soda and watched a movie, and then danced more. We took pictures and messed with our hair and laughed the whole time. We ate quesadillas and corndogs and had soda. So much soda. Then we went to sleep. We can’t ever forget about that day. Spectacular.