Posted by Mrs. Emery
Start your piece off with the line: “What are you looking for”?
Write for 10 minutes. Post your piece to comments.
Posted on October 8, 2015, in Writing Prompt. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.
What are you looking for?
I’m looking for:
success I can see,
a transcript of cognitive beauty.
I am looking for glory
in modesty and mentality.
Glimpses of gold,
like peeking through the windows of the cars you pass on the highway.
desperation, dedication –
Success is subjective.
While on the subject, I need it to expand a single aptitude.
Broader horizons make for prettier sunsets.
Success is having a paper that says you’re not a failure, because all things official, are documented.
Come watch the sunset with me,
let us spin our planet to a wide shot of dark.
Can you see that star?
“What are you looking for,” I asked, wiping away my tears.
“I know this isn’t the end. I know she wouldn’t just leave it like this. I know there’s something more. I can feel it, Nikki. I can feel something. And I need to find it.” A crazed look in her eyes, she stood up from our spot on the floor.
“Britt, she’s gone. She didn’t leave you anything. In fact, this is exactly like her; to leave it like this. I don’t know who you think she was, but she was never on our side. You have to let this go.” I could feel something, too, though. I was just too scared to admit it.
“Nikki, I feel it. It’s like there’s something or someone telling me to look. She wants me to, Nikki, I know she does.”
“Brittany, she’s dead. Mom is dead. She did not leave you anything. I’m telling you, you need to forget about it.”
She wasn’t listening anymore. She’d already put her beat up sneakers on. She’d been half way out the door when she whispered, “When I find it, I’ll let you know.” And then she was gone. Wherever she went, and whatever she was thinking I would never know. She never came back.
“What are you looking for?” I asked my brother as he rummaged through my stuff. In my room. Without my permission.
“Something of great importance!” He said in a terrible James Bond accent that sounded something like Yogi Bear and Mickey Mouse.
“I doubt that there’s anything of great importance to you in my stuff.” I say as I snatch the box away from the wannabe spy.
“Hey! I wasn’t finished yet!” He said.
“I’m not giving it back until you tell me what you’re looking for.” I say as I waive the container mockingly in his face.
“Arrrg! Fine! I’m searching for the lost medallion of James ll!” He declared triumphantly. He then surged forward, grabbed the container from my hand and pulled an object from the container before letting it smash to the ground.
“AHA! I’ve found it!” He yelled.
“Serisouly.” I say nonchalantly as I spring forward and grab the necklace from his hand. My spelling bee medal from 5th grade.
“What are you looking for?” Maeve asked me that afternoon.
“None of your business,” I promptly told her.
Maeve shrugged. “Then I guess I won’t tell you about what I was looking for–and found.”
My eyes immediately darted up. “What did you find?”
“What were you looking for?”
I sighed. “I was looking for a note. Was that what you found?”
“Oh boy, yes!” she exclaimed. “Is it a love note?”
I laughed. “Yeah, as if that’s all I’ve got going on this summer.”
“So it is a love letter?” she said eagerly, not understanding the concept of sarcasm. Who can blame her, though? She’s only four.
“No, it is not,” I answered. “Can you please pass it to me?”
She reached into her sock drawer and brought out that same rustic stationary I’d seen two times before.
“Read it to me!” she demanded as she placed it in the palm of my hands.
I looked down at the note.
“You found my clue, right out of the blue! Now why don’t you lend me a hand? Find a book even a toddler can understand.”
I smiled at Maeve. “Hey, Maeve. What’s your favorite book?”
“What are you looking for?”
I rolled my eyes, continuing my search and corrected, “Not what, who.”
Daniel smiled that half-smile only he could master, “Oh, sorry. Let’s start over.” He walked out of the small room and I rolled my eyes once again, amused at his little antics.
“Who are you looking for?” Daniel asked with a wink.
“A man named…” I held the file up to the light, “…Arron du Méfait,” I said, butchering the name.
“That means Arron of Mischief, in French.” Daniel pushed himself onto the steel table, swinging his legs like a toddler.
“How would you know that?” I asked, squinting in disbelief.
He laughed and claimed, “You don’t know everything about me.” I continued my cold stare and Daniel confessed, “It says it right there,” pointing at the file.
I swatted him over the head with it and opened the file once again, trying to focus on its contents. Though that was nearly impossible with Daniel hovering over my shoulder, his breath hot on my skin.
“What are you doing?” I shoved him away, closing the file and holding it over my shoulder in preparation to slap him again.
“Sorry!” Daniel held his hands up in surrender, “Just reading. Think of me as a little fly on the wall.” He balanced on one foot and made a sort of chicken pose as his version of a human fly.
I leaned against the cold wall and opening the file once again and said in mock irritation, “Yeah, well, shoo fly. Don’t bother me.”
Daniel began dancing around the room, heading for the door while ‘singing,’ “Shoo fly, don’t bother me. Shoo fly, don’t bother me. Shoo fly, don’t bother me!” He held the note out obnoxiously, “For I belong to somebody!”
“What are you looking for?” he said as I desperately searched underneath the bed and the desk of our shared bedroom.
“Where is she?” I screamed desperately, in my heart I knew she was gone. But I could still feel her.
“Where is who?” Brandon asked.
“Where’s Melody? Where’s our little sister?” I cried.
Brandon awkwardly stepped back before answering, “Maya, you know she died last month. Remember the car accident?” Reality sunk in and I stepped back down to Earth. The little sister I loved was gone and had been for a while, but I had done it again.
“Is this the fifth or sixth time?” I asked as I breathed heavily.
Brandon stepped over to the chart. “Seventh.”
I collapsed onto the bed in tears. “Why can’t I control it?”
Brandon sat next to me. “I don’t know,” he said sympathetically.
I was shaking all over, a cold sweat and tears drenched my clothes.
It had started the morning after the funeral…
“Melody! Wake up! You’re going to miss breakfast you silly!” I yelled playfully down the hallway. I opened her bedroom door to find her bed empty. She wasn’t at the breakfast table. “Where’s Melody?” I asked innocently. Mom burst out crying and then I remembered. Melody was gone. I never stopped my panic attacks and memory loss until I died and joined her. My last words were, “I’m coming Melody.”
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The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein
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