Today I was really mad because I couldn't play this piano piece right and I have a recital on Saturday. So, to calm myself I decided just to write off the writing magic prompts and try to use all of them in a story. It turned out really weird. But yeah, I'm posting it. So here goes nothing...
I have one green eye and one brown eye. The green sees truth, but the brown eye sees much, much more. Or so the little gold box that arrived when I was born said. The truth is, I do have a green and brown eye, but they don't see truth or anything. Yeah I know. Pretty dopey. By the way, My name's Clarice. And besides my eyes, I'm a normal kid. Unlike my sister. She's weird. Alison was the runt of the family, born small and ill-favored, and by the time she was thirteen, she was still small and ill-favored. Why ill-favored? Because she claims to have all these cool and strange experiences like one time she saw a ghost and the ghost was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. How random. I'm so jealous. I think she's just too lucky. By our brother Jason doesn't think so. He says she's insane. One time he told Alison that she was kooky. She frowned at him then said something weird under her breath. All of a sudden Jason flew into the air then dropped onto the floor with a thud. Jason had never felt so foolish before and he hoped he's never feel so foolish again. She was going to kick him when dad came into the room.
"Be nice," my father said. "After all, he's your brother." Alison stopped and Jason ran away as fast as possible. Besides that incident, my sister hasn't done much weird except one time last year when Mrs. Fleming's wig had gone missing. She's our teacher and old and crabby and (duh!) wears a wig and it had gone missing, like I said and she was in a pandemonium and all of us were laughing but Alison said something weird again and the wig appeared! Right there on Mrs. Fleming's desk! Now she's the teacher's pet and sometimes around saying
“I am the most famous twelve-year-old in the United States.”
Like that's really true.
She's thirteen, anyways.
But now, problems. And, if somebody didn't do something soon, we were going to have a catastrophe on our hands. Really.
It was a witchy house: the low-slung roof; that quiet grey paint; those squinting, shuttered windows; and the empty porch rocker that rocked, rocked, rocked day and night. That's where I was standing. At this house. Beside me stood Jason. Why we were standing there, neither of us knew. Neither of us remember what had happened recently. Or how we had gotten to that house. But somehow we knew it was Alison's doing.
“Should we go in, Clarice?” Jason asked.
“Better than standing out here in the rain. C'mon.” And we stepped onto the path and walked to the door...
So there. Paradox and/or Phillies Phan, could one of you post chapter 3 in Writing Magic, or at least the prompts. A friend is borrowing my copy of the book and so I don't have it. :) That would be nice.