Writing Prompt

From Rosalind: Your character is on his/her way to a New Years Eve party. Describe their process of getting ready. What do they pick to wear? Are they nervous about meeting someone or being part of the crowd? Are they excited? Or do they just wish they could stay home?


Write for 10 minutes. Post your piece to comments.


Posted on January 13, 2015, in Writing Prompt. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. “I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life.” I repeated this over and over again as I took a shower. While I blow-dried and curled my hair, the statement turned more into a song; “I hate my life, oh yes I do. I hate my life, oh what about you?”
    I applied some pink lip gloss, a few flicks of mascara, and some concealer to hide my facial blemishes.
    Oh, god! It’s a party so I have to wear a dress… I huffed.
    I tore through my closet, thinking that I might’ve kept a dress from middle school. No luck. I slumped over to mom’s room.
    In her closet was about 2% jeans, 8% tops, and 90% dresses. I knew I’d have to find at least one in here.
    I searched and searched through that entire closet; left and right; top and bottom… nothing.
    In the very back, though, was a knee-length white dress that had a sweetheart neckline. (Don’t even ask about how I knew to explain that… I don’t wanna talk about it.)
    I tried it on, and it looked perfect! I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was gorgeous… I was gorgeous.
    I slid on some white heels, grabbed my iPhone and slid that into the Jimmi Chu bag I took off of mom’s bathroom counter. She was waiting for me at a place with the title, “Rock N’ Roller New Years Eve ft. Nadali Roller.” I mean, who names their kid Nadali? It’s Natalie, like, duh!
    I chugged what was left of the milk and then got in my car. Cranking it up the radio blared out “Shake It Off by Taylor Swift” and I about had a heart attack. That song is getting so old…
    Mom met me outside and then gasped a very loud, a very dramatic gasp when she looked at the dress.
    “Oh, honey.” Her face lite up like the lights surrounding this place.
    “Mooom,” I whined. “Don’t. Let’s just get this over with.”

    We went inside and I don’t really remember much after that. I always had a glass of something with some name that had way too much alcohol. I puked once or twice, danced ridiculously too many times, and then mom took me home.
    I knew it was going to happen, which is why I would’ve rather stayed at home, listened to sad songs, and pet my cat, Mitty. A sad life, I know. But it’s my life…

  2. “I don’t WANT to go!”
    “Well, you’re going anyway!”
    Lidia ran her hands through the clothes that hung from my closet. I sat on the bed, my arms crossed.
    “I’m not going,” I demanded.
    “Yes, you are and I’m going to find you something appropriate to wear.”
    I glared at my older sister’s turned back. What gave her the right to tell me what to wear?
    “Why can’t I just wear a cute shirt and skirt or something?” I asked.
    “It’s just not right,” Lidia argued. “Everyone knows that girls wear dresses to fancy parties like this one.”
    “IT’S A NEW YEARS EVE PARTY IN THE CAFETERIA AT SCHOOL!” I yelled. “How is that fancy?”
    “It’s a school dance,” Lidia corrected me. “And it’s very fancy.”
    “You’re fancy, dances are fancy, I’m NOT fancy,” I stated.
    There was a few minutes silence as Lidia studied my plain clothes. Than she whirled around, strands of hair falling out of her bun.
    “Ugh!” my sister expressed her anger. “You have no dresses!”
    “I don’t wear dresses,” I replied.
    “From now on, you do!”
    Lidia stomped out of the closet. She grabbed my hand and dragged me to her room. “We’re going to look at my clothes!”
    “No!” I looked in disgust at the shimmery purple dress she wore with black high-heels on her feet. Her thin brown hair was swept up into a tight bun, but pieces of hair were already slipping out.
    “Yes!” she hissed. She yanked out a long black dress with fancy designs on the sides of it. “This is the plainest dress I have! Wear it!”
    “No way!” I cowered and turned, ready to make a run for it but she grabbed my arm.
    “Josephine!” she yelled. “You are wearing this and that’s that!”
    “What’s that?” I asked. “And I prefer to be called Josie.”
    “Just try it on!”
    “Okay, okay, I’ll try on this fancy dress,” I mumbled, realizing I had on choice. I slipped on the dress in her small bathroom and then stomped out. “Happy?”
    “Hmmm,” Lidia carefully studied me from all directions. “I guess it’ll do.”
    “It better,” I muttered.
    “Now let me do your hair.”
    “No way!” I screeched and dodged out of the way of her stretching hand. “This is where I draw the line. I let you put me in this girly dress and that is enough. You are NOT doing my hair.” I ran my fingers protectively through my hair.
    Lidia started to protest but then sighed. “Oh, all right.” She grabbed a pair of black sandals and thrust them into my face. “But you ARE wearing these. No exceptions.”

  3. The clock had struck 4:00 P.M., marking eight hours before the start of a New Year. The worse part was, I had to prepare for the Ramon’s annual New Year’s Eve Smorgasbord, other wise known as my family’s partially Swedish New Year celebration. Each and every New Year’s Eve, my entire family has this annual reunion to celebrate the coming of the new year. The terrible part was, I had less than an hour to fix the frizzy mess with my hair, care for the pimples popping out of my pores, and manage to pick an appropriate dress that would match my style and finesse.

    Running to the bathroom, I leaped into the shower and hummed my favorite Taylor Swift’s songs as I washed all the scum out of my scalp. The process, however, was quite difficult. First, I added shampoo, scrubbed with carefulness, rinsed, and applied conditioner to amplify the gloss in my long and wavy brown hair.

    Shutting the power and tripping my way out of the shower, I grabbed the blow drier and untangled it. I glanced at my iPhone to check the time. 4:22. I silently grunted, wishing for a miracle to dry my hair in less than 10 minutes. Going section by section, I heard my mother from down the hall, clicking her heals against the tile.

    “Lacey, where are you?” My mother hollered, knocking on the entrance to my room.

    “Drying my hair, mom. Give me a sec.” Knowing the inevitable was going to happen, my mom stormed into the bathroom, staring at my seemingly moist hair as she pointed to the clock.

    “Lacey Star Ramon! What is this? Every year I tell you the Smorgasbord begins at 5, every year you forget. Dry hair or not, go put on your dress. There’s no time to waste.”

    Acknowledging my mother silently, I shut the blow drier and skipped into my room barefoot. Despite my semi-dry hair, I still had time to find the perfect dress. Gazing into the depths of my closet, I pulled out my favorite aqua, strapless dress with my black heals to match my purse. Sprinting down the stairs, I stared at my brothers who were all nicely fitted into their tuxedos. What was I going to do? Combing my hair and placing it into a temporary bun, I raced to my cubby to reach my makeup bag. Opening the drawer, I saw that nothing was there. Nothing! I frantically flipped pillows, blankets, and books in order to find my makeup bag. Without this, my cold and pale face will have nothing to conceal its true, pimply self.

    “Lacey, Max, Ryan! Time to go!” Dad shouted, racing to grab his car keys from the kitchen.

    I looked at the clock. 4:53. Why, why had life have to be so cruel? Tears flooded down my face, leaving the small eyeliner and lipstick I had on to droop. Trotting with grief to my step, I looked once in the mirror before I shut the door. In the reflection, I saw a young teen with nice and even locks and an interesting combination of lipsticked and eyeliner. Wondering how a miracle occurred, I chuckled at how my misfortunate got me to have the perfect look I always imagined. Shutting my door, I knew that this Smorgasbord wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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