Monday Writing Prompt #3

Get your creative juices flowing with a weekly short essay prompt:

You discover you have developed a special power. What is it, and what will you do with it?

Email your 300 – 500 word short essay to me by 10: 00 a.m. on Monday, October 6, and I’ll post my favorite with next Monday’s writing prompt!

Thank you to all the entries in last week’s Monday Writing Prompt! You can read last week’s favorite by Janice Fisher below:

“Not for the faint hearted.” I stared at the ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­alarming words on the brochure in my hand that windy overcast morning in County Antrim, Northern Ireland. Zipping my all-weather jacket up to my neck and pulling on my gloves, I pacified myself with the thought that the warning didn’t really apply to me. At age 67 and ever cautious, I had no intention of walking across the 65-foot Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge high above the North Atlantic Ocean.

With our two traveling companions, my husband Jack, and I trekked the long winding trail to the bridge. The path, high above the ocean’s edge, seemed endless as we struggled uphill against the wind with many others making their way to this sight. Next were the 180 steps down to the final point before one crossed the bridge which connected the mainland to a small island once used by salmon fishermen. Jack was elated; he was about to realize his dream.

The bridge spans an 80-foot chasm. I stood against the high wire fence looking over the craggy cliff at the swirling blue water below. Jack descended the very steep metal stairs and waved a casual good-bye as I readied my camera to record the event. He crossed the swinging bridge and disappeared around a bend.

About this time the ticket-taker came up to us ladies and asked, “Would you like to go across?” I told him about my fear of the steep steps, never mind my fear of going across the bridge. He offered to go in front of me and lead the way. Something came over me, “I’m GOING!” I suddenly announced. My friends’ jaws dropped open; they couldn’t believe I would actually traverse that swinging, heaving bridge high above the Atlantic.

Carrick a Rede Rope Bridge

Determination spurred me on as I followed the ticket-taker down the steps. He stepped aside then as if to say, “It’s up to you now.” I didn’t expect the swimming, dizzying effect I experienced as I walked gingerly along holding tightly to the rope on each side. “Don’t look down, don’t look down!” I told myself. I must admit, it was exciting. Such a feeling of exhilaration swept over me as I stepped safely off the bridge and onto firm ground. I turned and waved ecstatically to my companions. They waved back. I waited until Jack appeared on the trail. He looked at me incredulously and said, “How’d you get here?” Surprised and proud, he gave me a big bear hug. We went back across the bridge taking photos of each other.

As we hiked back to our car, the sun broke through the overcast skies and gave us wonderful views of the brilliant turquoise ocean and sweeping vistas. The wind was at my back pushing me along the path to my next adventure. I was ready.

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“Monday” Writing Prompt #2

Get your creative juices flowing with a weekly short essay prompt:

What’s the most adventurous thing you’ve ever done?

Email your 300 – 500 word short essay to me by Monday, September 29, and I’ll post my favorite with next Monday’s writing prompt!

Thank you to all the entries in last week’s Monday Writing Prompt! You can read last week’s favorite by Shannon Barrington below:

Quickly, I jab with the left and punch him squarely in the shoulder. He counters, but he’s not strong enough, I throw a one-two punch and stun him into silence. Just as his hand comes up to connect with my jaw, my fists fly into a flurry of punches and jabs and suddenly – his head pops off.

I am “The Red Rocker”.

My opponent, The Blue Bomber, otherwise known as my sister, sits defeated. She knows the odds are against her. But she likes to play the odds.

Sitting up straighter in her bean bag, she cries for a re-match. “Two out of three.”

In the corner of our wood-paneled, shag carpeted basement, sits the long forgotten game of Pong. All the focus is on the ring of our Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots.

I, The Red Rocker, am up for the challenge. Afraid of no one, especially The Bomber.

I roll my shoulders back, get a nice loose grip on the joystick and start the countdown for the match to begin. “Let’s have a good, clean fight.” I say. My sister cocks her head and tells me to shut up.

Suddenly, I’m hit. I never saw it coming. Checking to make sure I still have my head, I let loose a barrage of punches and counter attacks. Sweat pours down my nine year old face as I try to keep my head on. My sister, older and therefore used to winning, begins to smile.

The bomber hits with such a force that my hand shakes from the impact. I’m still upright and still in the fight, but I fear it’s not for long.

Sure enough, The Bomber sneaks an uppercut into the melee of arms flying and I watch horrified as my head flies to the side of the ring.

I’m down.

I’m out.

But, do I give up? Does that dissuade me enough that I’d throw in the towel and go play with my Barbie Dolls and EZ Bake Oven?

Never! Vengeance would be mine.

I slowly lock my head back into place and say those important words.

“Re-match.”