Aaaand... a week later I see this prompt and have to have it. I swore to myself I'd only read what had been posted. Oops. Sorry I'm late to the party?
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There is a wooden box. It stays tucked away under old jeans in the bottom of a duffle bag, except on the nights when it feels like life is a lie. Then it is carefully removed from its denim swaddling and brought out under the yellow light of a motel lamp.
The box holds thirteen things.
1. An old photograph, fading. Tattered around the edges. Layers of paper are pulling apart. A woman with blond hair sits at a dining room table, her head thrown back. Laughter bubbles up.
2. A bullet. Mangled and flat where it impacted on a tin sign nailed to a wall. The first that ever hit home. A bullseye.
3. A Hello Kitty card with pink glitter. Be My Valentine. Don’t forget dinner tonight! XOXO. Jess.
4. An amulet. Black thong. Tarnished metal eyes and horns. The amulet. One mistake too many.
5. A single folded sheet of paper, starting to yellow. A large red S emblazoned on the corner. Dear Mr. Winchester, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted.
6. Hermione, 3 inches tall. Bushy plastic hair framing her face. A tiny plastic wand gripped tight in her tiny plastic hand. That was probably the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.
7. A plush blue jewelry box. A diamond ring never worn. A promise never made.
8. A bone white claw. Chipped on the tip. The missing piece lost, still embedded in muscle. The price of distraction.
9. A key to a missing lock. A door consumed in an explosion. A scorched pit surrounded by car shells.
10. A single white feather. Soft. Light. Collected from the back seat of the Impala.
11. A metal tag shaped like a bone. Riot. 430 Heather Crescent. Kermit, TX. 423-555-6937.
12. A gold band. A man’s wedding ring. Polished every single day.
13. A piece of parchment. Ferried from Heaven by an angel. You’re a good man. I’m damned proud of you, son.
Thirteen pieces of memory hoarded away. Thirteen ghosts.
Filled: Thirteen Ghosts
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There is a wooden box. It stays tucked away under old jeans in the bottom of a duffle bag, except on the nights when it feels like life is a lie. Then it is carefully removed from its denim swaddling and brought out under the yellow light of a motel lamp.
The box holds thirteen things.
1. An old photograph, fading. Tattered around the edges. Layers of paper are pulling apart. A woman with blond hair sits at a dining room table, her head thrown back. Laughter bubbles up.
2. A bullet. Mangled and flat where it impacted on a tin sign nailed to a wall. The first that ever hit home. A bullseye.
3. A Hello Kitty card with pink glitter. Be My Valentine. Don’t forget dinner tonight! XOXO. Jess.
4. An amulet. Black thong. Tarnished metal eyes and horns. The amulet. One mistake too many.
5. A single folded sheet of paper, starting to yellow. A large red S emblazoned on the corner. Dear Mr. Winchester, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted.
6. Hermione, 3 inches tall. Bushy plastic hair framing her face. A tiny plastic wand gripped tight in her tiny plastic hand. That was probably the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.
7. A plush blue jewelry box. A diamond ring never worn. A promise never made.
8. A bone white claw. Chipped on the tip. The missing piece lost, still embedded in muscle. The price of distraction.
9. A key to a missing lock. A door consumed in an explosion. A scorched pit surrounded by car shells.
10. A single white feather. Soft. Light. Collected from the back seat of the Impala.
11. A metal tag shaped like a bone. Riot. 430 Heather Crescent. Kermit, TX. 423-555-6937.
12. A gold band. A man’s wedding ring. Polished every single day.
13. A piece of parchment. Ferried from Heaven by an angel. You’re a good man. I’m damned proud of you, son.
Thirteen pieces of memory hoarded away. Thirteen ghosts.