Prompts - Editing

Prompt: Write a story in 200 words. Then edit it to 150 words. Then 100 words. Then 50.

200 Words

Deborah tucked the switchblade into the pocket of her security uniform. She hated to deprive some kid of his only defense, but she couldn’t have gang fights starting on her watch.

            “Homegirl! Where’s that asshole Paco?” Izadora called from the corner store.

            “Damn, girl, I ain’t seen him all day,” Deborah shouted. She got along well with Iz. They both hated the other mall security guards, who wasted their time flirting with the pretty girls who walked by.

            “Well, when you see him tell him he better get his ass over here, he owes me money!” Iz said, folding her arms.

            “That fool not paying you again? You should take his ass to court.”

            Iz laughed. A customer walked up to the door and she nodded to Deborah before going inside.

            Deborah continued on her rounds. She kept an eye out for Paco, as he was supposed to take the next shift, but she didn’t see him until she was clocking out. Reluctantly she handed over the confiscated blade, knowing Paco was the type to give it to some other kid. She lectured him about paying Izadora, but she knew he didn’t care.

            Some guys are just assholes like that.

150 Words

Deborah tucked the switchblade into the pocket of her security uniform. She couldn’t have fights starting on her watch.

            “Homegirl! Where’s that asshole Paco?” Izadora called from the corner store.

            “Damn, girl, I ain’t seen him all day,” Deborah shouted. She got along well with Iz. They both hated the other mall security guards.

            “When you see him tell him to get his ass over here, he owes me money!” Iz said.

            “That fool not paying you again? You should take his ass to court.”

            Iz laughed. A customer walked up and she nodded to Deborah.

            Deborah continued and kept an eye out for Paco, but she didn’t see him until she was clocking out. Reluctantly she handed over the confiscated blade, knowing Paco was the type to give it to some kid. She lectured him about paying Izadora, but she knew he didn’t care.

            Some guys are just assholes.

100 Words

Deborah put the confiscated switchblade into the pocket of her security uniform.

            “Homegirl! Where’s that asshole Paco?” Izadora called from the corner store.

            “Damn, I ain’t seen him all day,” Deborah shouted.

            “When you do tell him to get his ass over here!”

            “That fool not paying you again? You should take his ass to court.”

            Iz laughed. Deborah left, keeping an eye out for Paco. She didn’t see him until her shift was over. She told him to lock up the blade and lectured him about paying Izadora, but she knew he didn’t care.

            Some guys are just assholes.

50 Words

Deborah put the confiscated switchblade into the pocket of her mall security uniform as Izadora called from the corner store.

            “Where’s Paco? Tell him to get over here!”

            “He not paying you? Take his ass to court.”

            She saw Paco after her shift. He ignored her; he’s such an asshole.

Prompts - Write Something Representative of Your Style

Prompt: Write a short piece that is representative of your writing style.

Steep Cliffs and Lonely Children

            It was early. The marine layer had yet to burn off, although lately it stayed through the day, shading all who wandered the paths in dim, misty fog. From my position on the sidewalk by Taylor Hall I could hear every conversation and remain unseen.

            The smiling boy with too-short jeans talked louder than most at this hour. I could hear the happy blitheness in his voice and it disgusted me. Not for any real reason; I had nothing against him or happiness in general. It just wasn’t the kind of morning for joyous proclamations of friendship. I liked watching lonely figures fade into the fog, and Smiling Boy refused to disappear.

            He had a companion, though I found her presence more tolerable. How she could stand the boy I didn’t know, but perhaps I was a little more cynical than her…and the rest of the humans that walked these paths so freely.

He was leading her up the hill in front of me. Her dark clothing made her a shadow against the gray sky, her blonde hair the only confirmation she wasn’t a fixture of the buildings. More bored than interested, I followed them at a slight distance. I was up far too early to be doing anything else of importance.

            They trekked up the hill, past the buildings my colleagues had affectionately titled “Farmanian,” Smiling Boy still crowing with undeserved glee. I had yet to hear the girl speak. I kept following.

            It soon became clear that they were not heading for the buildings themselves. Classes wouldn’t start for a few hours at least (though I hardly paid attention to things as trivial as school anymore). The boy was leading her to the park, which, on a clear day, had a view that most considered breathtaking. I found it stifling. The ocean was my enemy.

            Smiling Boy was probably the type to go surfing after class, cheering on his buddies as they tramped down the cliffs. I’d never go near; this whole school was treacherously close to the never-ending spans of churning, dark water. I dismissed him from my mind. I never wanted to think of Smiling Boy and his loud voice again.

            The girl would enjoy the park. Her head turned this way and that, lifting a thin wrist to gently caress the fog around her. I got closer, but never did I hear her speak. She was lonely, like me. She would enjoy the park on a clear day, like I did not, but would most certainly appreciate its beauty most in the fog. It was quiet, desolate and dangerous any time, but on a foggy day…

            On a foggy day, the ocean was hidden. You would not see the cliff. Not unless you tumbled down it.

            I smiled at a terrible thought of the lonely girl tumbling.

            After a few minutes I let the girl disappear and walked indistinctly down the hill. My spot had been discovered, my morbid thoughts interrupted by those I briefly found interesting, but this would not last for long. There was a place that I lived and slept and ate and it was in my mind, calling me away from the fog and the ocean.

            I wandered down the hill, farther and farther, turned and went down farther. Not beach-far but dormitory-far. Not that I lived in the dormitories. I did, but only when necessary. Only when others shepherded me back. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

            I stopped to stare at the damp windshields of cars and imagined running a key down the side of every one. I’d never do that. I prefer to stay silent and watch as others make waves.

            Waves…waves were my enemy.

             I’ve always had a lot of enemies, but none of them people. There’s a difference between hating something and being enemies with it. I hated Smiling Boy, but he was not my enemy the way the ocean was. I hated him like I hated the crushed can I kicked down the sidewalk; it did not belong and was disturbing nature around it but I could kick it away from me until I couldn’t see it, lost in the trash of others.

If I ever let people become my enemy I wouldn’t have a reason to live, for they are everywhere and have their sticky hands in all things.

There was hope left for the lonely girl. I could imagine the enemies she might have. Maybe the wind. Maybe those shorts Smiling Boy was wearing.

I could go back and try to talk to her. I could follow her and see where she lived, which dorm, what year, major, car, friends, classes, social security number. But I was too afraid. Afraid of discovering that she wasn’t lonely, that she didn’t mind those too-short shorts, that she didn’t want a friendly shadow like me.

It had happened before.

I don’t waste my time making enemies of people because people don’t waste their time with shadows.

I felt mist trickle down from the tree above me and decided to move. The fog was beautiful from the park, but anywhere else it was simply depressing. I couldn’t see my own shadow. I couldn’t tell if I was going to run into someone, unless they were talking too loud and stomping their sandaled feet.

I found the fence that barred me from falling off the sidewalk and down onto the track and grasped it with pale fingers. I thought of what to do next, and nothing came to mind. Nothing pleasant.

I heard footsteps from behind and froze. They passed me by.

I gripped the fence tighter and thought just as hard. Only one image played itself over and over in my mind.

I smiled as I imagined lonely girl tumbling.