Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt: Facade
Via Daily Post: Facade
The wall had always been there. She’d grown alongside it; her height increasing each year, the stones chipping and weathering in turn. The realization that the top of the structure didn’t reach the moon had been the last wonder of her childhood to be dashed to bits. Now it was merely a canvas for aspiring artists in her eyes. It was a right of passage to create a mural on the wall that didn’t get painted over, and this is what she found herself striving for.
Alice was soft spoken, shy and unassuming, but she had aspirations to be more. Although she lacked a special skill to contribute to the community, she knew the beauty trapped within her mind would make up for her deficit. She was no savant, and she had to hone her abilities. So she began the habit of trekking along the wall each day, leading her far from the settlement. She had been lucky to discover a slight curve in the wall that offered some seclusion so that she could practice painting.
You wake up to find a strange young woman in bright clothes eating breakfast in your kitchen. Perhaps not coincidentally, your pet parrot is nowhere to be seen…
Growling, I slapped at the snooze button on my beside clock for a third time. I missed the clock, hitting the half empty cup of water on my bedside table. It fell over, water spreading across the nightstand and then down onto the floor. I continued to lay in bed for another minute, listening to the blaring of my alarm compete with the dripping water for attention. Sighing, I rolled to the edge of my bed and swung my legs over, sitting up.
My feet hit the soggy carpet and I grimaced. Reaching to the clock, I disabled the alarm and then glanced around my room. I was behind on laundry, delinquent socks and crumpled pants were carelessly arranged throughout the space. I reached down to the footboard and grabbed a shirt that was hanging over one corner. Slipping it on, I stood up and stretched, realizing my shirt was on inside out. Groaning aloud, I trudged towards the bedroom door, eager to change the direction of my morning.
A sizzling sound met my ears as I pushed the door open. I could smell eggs cooking, and something sweet, perhaps pancakes, and oddly enough, chicken. Wiping the drool from my mouth I glanced down the hallway towards the front door of my apartment. The deadbolts were engaged and the chain lock was still hooked, confusion washed over me. Who is in my kitchen?
He’d never had trouble on his first day of school before.
This year was different. Everything was wrong.
Peter hiked his backpack further onto his shoulder and strode down the hallway, his brow furrowed in concern. He’d never had trouble on his first day of school before. This year was different. Everything was wrong. The simple explanation was that it was his first day of high school, and it was bound to be problematic; but he dismissed the notion without a moment of consideration. Nothing he had experienced thus far today could be a result of just his nerves. It had all started as he waited for the bus.
Since Peter only had a learner’s permit, he was forced to take the bus to school for the time being. As he stood at the street corner in the early morning light, he had been uncomfortably aware that he was the only high school student in his neighborhood waiting for the yellow-transportation-mode-of-embarrassment. He’d been further abashed when the bus had driven right past, without slowing to consider him. Peter had cursed and ran after the bus, yelling and waving his arms at the driver in hopes of gaining attention. Luckily, there had been a stop two blocks later, allowing him to board.
As Peter continued down the laminate corridor towards his assigned home room, he approached one of the locker areas. His eyes skimmed faces, looking for someone of familiarity. With a heavy sigh, he relented searching, he didn’t recognize anyone in this hall. But as his eyes had been distracted, his body had continued forward, he bumped into the back of an unsuspecting girl with a high-top ponytail. She scrunched her face up in a disgusted look and waved her hand in front of her nose, she obviously smelt something offensive. Peter stepped back and bowed his head, hoping to meld into the crowd and stay anonymous. The maneuver worked, and he hurried past the remaining group.