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Friday Freewrite #37 – Target

June 29, 2012

Freewriting is an exercise in timed, stream of consciousness writing. It’s a fun and useful activity for writers of all types. Every week, I’ll provide a prompt as a springboard for freewriting. For more information on what freewriting is all about and how to do it, see this post.


Today’s prompt is a photo:

Taken in September of 2011 in Pleasanton, CA


I hope this prompt has stirred some interesting thoughts and ideas for you! Freewriting is inherently messy and sometimes deeply personal, but if you feel comfortable sharing your results, please post as little or as much as you’d like in the comments.

Previous Prompt

6 Comments leave one →
  1. June 30, 2012 6:30 pm

    Charlie yawned. His brother and sister sat next to him at the table, arguing over whether or not the arrows used at the Harvestown Fun Fair Archery Booth could actually kill anyone.

    “They’re huge – like an inch across!”

    “Yeah, who ever heard of someone being killed by an arrow an inch around?”

    “Well, if a bullet can kill someone, and it’s only the size of a pencil…”

    Charlie fingered his straw.

    “What you’re not taking into account is the velocity.” Sarah was in eighth grade, and Gogo was still stuck with Charlie in life science, a year behind.

    “What I’m saying is, if you can kill someone with a pencil–”

    “Anyone can kill someone with a pencil. But what about a magic marker?”

    Both boys thought for a moment.

    “Well, if it had a pointy tip…” suggested Gogo.

    “No, see, instead of getting a little tip far enough to reach someone’s heart, you gotta get something the sizes of a dime the same distance.” Sarah demonstrated first with her own straw, then with her thumb, right on Gogo’s chest. “You’d have to shoot the arrow harder–harder than a seventh-grader could, anyway.”

    Charlie was bored and annoyed that the conversation was extending their lunch so long. “Yeah, only eighth-graders can kill people,” he reassured Gogo.
    His brother grinned, but his sister merely raised her eyebrows and sipped her soda in a superior manner. “WE take velocity into account,” was all she said, and that was that until after lunch when all three headed to the haunted house.

    *from the YA smash hit “Only Eighth-Graders Can Kill People”

  2. August 18, 2012 2:36 pm

    He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair a million times, pacing back and forth in anger, before giving into the urge to kill something. His legs carried him swiftly to the outermost edge of the family farm, to the shed where bows, arrows, and even spears were kept. He exploded into the tiny room in a flurry of madness, grabbed the small pile of spears, and slammed the door in a manner that could have meant the end of the dilapidated shed.Worn and callused fingers wrapped around the first spear as Jackson, the eldest son and therefore new owner of the farm, threw it towards the nearest victim: a watermelon.

    One after another zipped through the air, each time with less motivation, until the final spears slipped through Jackson’s fingers and he slid to the ground. Tears streamed down his face, the salt burning his skin under the late afternoon sun. The death of his parents had been no surprise, what with all the diseases they’d been diagnosed with just under six months ago. However, thirty years of being roped in to helping around the farm had payed a toll on his once fiery spirit. And they expected him to keep managing the estate? Why?

    His green eyes focused again, and he stared at the course and crackly skin of his hands, finally deciding that his heart must look just like them: worn and callous, from building up walls to keep everyone out.

    “Everything but her,” he whispered to himself. He could almost smell her in the wind: Lilacs and vanilla. Always so calm, so pristine. Porcelain skin and red hair that cascaded around her shoulders in waves of fire. Dark blue eyes that seemed to see the character of your very soul. Yes, Jackson was capable of blocking everyone out but her–Heather. But where was she now? Where was she when he needed her most?

    Then he saw it–A fire skimming the tops of the crops. Was it her?

    • August 19, 2012 2:47 pm

      And yes, I realize they’re arrows, but spears fit better.

      • Anita M. King permalink*
        August 19, 2012 4:19 pm

        Hey, the whole point of freewriting is to see where it takes you. If it takes you to spears, spears it is!

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