Using story prompts is one of the best ways to get a writer’s brain firing. In this series, I’ll be taking an image I’ve found around the web and using it as a jumping-off point for a quick fiction write. The best part? I’d love to see how you interpret the picture in your own writing, so do remember to join me and share your story prompt session in the comments below!
Thanks to a terrible head cold I’ve not been able to exercise much. Well, I could have but the sheer amount of mucus I’ve been producing has been a threat not just to my own safety but to everyone around me. (Overshare? Never.)
The air. Feel it flow around you, then lace down your throat. Feel it inflate your lungs, and suddenly you think you know what a ship must feel like–if such a thing could feel–to have its sails pulled tight and full by a loving gale. The traffic doesn’t bother you; you enjoy the blood of this city. But you need the break. You need the release. So all that matters now is the rhythm of feet. The beat of the heart. And as the world shucks off the night you are lighting it up. You are a dynamo and your heels spark the energy of city life. A woman walking her dog weaves in your path, pulls tight to her canine’s reigns, and you dodge her with ease as the terrier yaps for a chase he’ll never make. You skirt the baker’s van delivering on the corner, turn down toward the park. The hot sound of impatient traffic, that wet rumble of fumes and barely seen faces, and you push through the tide, weaving, dodging static cars. You will go to that fate soon enough, but not yet. Not yet.
And then through the chamber of space at the park’s front gate, and the sound is glorious. The lament of trees. Psithurism saves you, and you quicken your pace, you pummel the grey track, because in these moments of running, you are entirely still.
You are at home to your self.
You are free.