#SwiftFicFriday – Week 21 Prompt

#SwiftFicFriday – Week 21 Prompt

Welcome to the new and improved word sprint writing prompt series – #SwiftFicFriday!

After some feedback and more consideration, I’m updating the rules to give more people a chance to participate! Instead of 30 minutes or just an hour, I’m opening the prompt up to FOUR hours: 8:30PM-12:30AM on the east coast.

Other things to keep in mind:

– Include social media links/handles/anything you want to promote (Twitter, FB, etc) & word count in the comment with your submission.
– Submission must be between 150-300 words.
– All stories are property of the authors.
Winner will be determined via reader votes over the weekend.

Ready, set, write!

Prompt: New Year’s Eve is just around the corner, and with everyone making resolutions and plans for 2020, the idea of promises comes to mind. So for the last prompt of the year, let’s write pieces about promises – broken or kept.

Happy writing!

2 thoughts on “#SwiftFicFriday – Week 21 Prompt

  1. “You’re upset.”

    Jade stopped her pacing to stare. Gareth leaned against a nearby tree, cherry blossoms tumbling around him with annoyingly aesthetic ease.

    “Of course, I am.” How did the mortals put it? Thank you, Captain Apparent? No, no, no. That wasn’t right. Obvious. That was it. Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Wouldn’t you be?”

    “Death is part of the cycle.” Damn Gareth for sounding so blasé about it. He’d been through this enough to apparently harden whatever little he had resembling a heart. “It can’t be avoided forever.”

    “Forever? Try twenty-five years. A blink in time.”

    “Not for them.”

    “Even for them.” Jade had no interest in Gareth’s attempts to placate her.

    “Losing your first is always the hardest.”

    “I made a promise.” And damn this system for insisting she break it.

    “We can’t keep them all.”

    “Then what’s the point of making them?”

    Gareth’s smile walked a fine line between understanding and exasperated.

    Yeah, yeah. She got it. Mortals died. Part of the cycle, blah blah blah. But—

    She was a guardian. Her entire job revolved around keeping mortals from dying. Keeping her mortal from dying.

    Right up until it didn’t.

    “How much time is left for your job?” Gareth asked.

    “My job has a name.” She pushed the words through clenched teeth. “A name. A life. A family. People who will be left behind and broken by this.”

    “The breaking is also part of the cycle.” Gareth pushed away from the tree and crossed the tiny courtyard to where Jade stood. His hands curled over her shoulders. “You know this is how their souls learn. How they grow.”

    “How they eventually become like us.”

    “Exactly.”

    “I’m not ready to let him go.”

    “We never are, Jade.” Gareth drew her into his arms, holding her tight. “We never are.”

    @caramichaels
    300 Guardian Angel words

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Tomorrow morning, Shane Hansen had a choice to make. In public. In front of crowds and cameras.

    But tonight, he was laying low and manning the kitchen of Livermore’s trendy eatery Barlow & Sons.

    He was working on a batch of pork and kimchi potstickers, enjoying the rhythm of his fingers in the dough, and trying not to think about who might be in the dining room beyond the swinging door.

    Jake Barlow came through the server’s breezeway. “We have any of the … I guess we do. Table Seven is asking for the special.”

    Shit. He shouldn’t have come in tonight. “Here, I’ll plate it and you can serve it. I got a shitload of shrimp to get to.”

    “Nah, we both know that’s not going to work.”

    “Look, I’m in a jam here. Name your price. Just serve Seven for me.”

    Jake reached for a kitchen apron instead. “You’re so agitated you’ll scorch the shrimp. And I don’t care who your daddy is, he’s gonna be pissed when he gets that bill.”

    “I’ll pay you to serve Seven and pay double for any shrimp I scorch. Triple. Whatever it takes. I can’t go out there. I promised myself, cousin.”

    Jake plated the meal and handed it to Shane. “It’s takes thirty seconds. Put it on the table, nod in greeting, and get the fuck back to the kitchen. Say you have to prep desserts. Or your shift is over. Or you’re asexual. Whatever it takes to walk away.”

    But he wasn’t walking away. Not this time. He grabbed the plate, headed for the swinging door, and licked his lips thinking how hungry he was to see the pretty little thing waiting for him at Table Seven.


    @everaddams / 289 words

    Liked by 2 people

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