Sam lived in a world that was entirely devoid of color.
This absence of color was not notable, and suited him fine. His brother Max had mentioned over a turkey sandwich last night that it was in fact a bland thing they were living in. Max had participated in the new state game, created by a smart woman out on the other coastline. The game had colors, colors Sam did not have words to describe. Sam did not have an image come to mind when Max tried to explain that banana yellow can bring a sickly kind of joy that buzzes.
Sam slid out of his bed, toes touching a cool gray laminate. He slithered down the hall, knocking three quick raps on his brother's door as he passed. Max was snoring lightly within, Sam could hear it, like he could hear most subtle and potentially unimportant things. He yawned and stretched out on the living room sofa, opening up his palm pilot and scrolling to the news.
The game had opened a local viewing port at the end of their industrial block. Sam's finger hovered over the block lettered "SUBSCRIBE" below the 7:45 AM time slot. He glanced at Max's door, and pressed.
He pulled on his deep gray jacket and headed out into the white sky day.
He made it to the game vestibule. There was a woman emerging from behind what looked like a photo booth curtain, tears in her eyes. She scuffled away, muttering to herself about how life was indeed not what she thought it might have been. Sam ignored this, as he knew that (like most things) maybe he was not supposed to hear it. He did not look back again when he heard the woman pick up her pace to a panicked run.
Sam pulled back what he did not know to be a red curtain, to sit on what he did not know was a primary-blue plastic bench. He loaded up the game by pressing one simple gray button in the middle of the screen.
Sam's world exploded into color. He didn't have the words. Only the eyes for it. His eyes made words in his mind, made images in his mind that buzzed and trilled and spun.
When it was over, Sam pulled back what he knew was a rich red curtain. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was fiercely red and worth seeing.
He shuffled back towards his home, where he wondered if Max was in his room at all.
He began to pick up his pace, running full tilt, tripping over his own feet.
As he passed the spot he had last seen the woman, he saw she had left one white shoe behind before leaping into the gray sea below. Sam shook his head fiercely, and also understood. The game was killer, it was beyond his world, beyond her world. He looked back at his apartment, and knew Max wasn't in his room.
--
Phew man, that was 25 minutes. 20 min is hard to write a decent anything--but a good length of time to not overthink it! Not mythical, not original, pretty bland, but is something!! Thank you Madeleine!
This is so wonderful. And it brought me so much joy to see you trying out this prompt! This whole little story was rich and imaginative. And the narrator! I loved the omniscience, I felt like I was inside Sam’s mind.
I have a few favorite lines in here.
This absence of color was not notable, and suited him fine.
Sam could hear it, like he could hear most subtle and potentially unimportant things.
He couldn't see it, but he knew it was fiercely red and worth seeing.
He made it to the game vestibule. (I know this one’s simple, but the word vestibule is cool.)
I could read a whole book about these brothers I think, and about this game.
I know how hard that 20 minute line is…. I find I’m always juuuuuuust about to get to the point haha.
I love your words! And I’m so grateful you shared. More more more!
Prompt 11:
Sam lived in a world that was entirely devoid of color.
This absence of color was not notable, and suited him fine. His brother Max had mentioned over a turkey sandwich last night that it was in fact a bland thing they were living in. Max had participated in the new state game, created by a smart woman out on the other coastline. The game had colors, colors Sam did not have words to describe. Sam did not have an image come to mind when Max tried to explain that banana yellow can bring a sickly kind of joy that buzzes.
Sam slid out of his bed, toes touching a cool gray laminate. He slithered down the hall, knocking three quick raps on his brother's door as he passed. Max was snoring lightly within, Sam could hear it, like he could hear most subtle and potentially unimportant things. He yawned and stretched out on the living room sofa, opening up his palm pilot and scrolling to the news.
The game had opened a local viewing port at the end of their industrial block. Sam's finger hovered over the block lettered "SUBSCRIBE" below the 7:45 AM time slot. He glanced at Max's door, and pressed.
He pulled on his deep gray jacket and headed out into the white sky day.
He made it to the game vestibule. There was a woman emerging from behind what looked like a photo booth curtain, tears in her eyes. She scuffled away, muttering to herself about how life was indeed not what she thought it might have been. Sam ignored this, as he knew that (like most things) maybe he was not supposed to hear it. He did not look back again when he heard the woman pick up her pace to a panicked run.
Sam pulled back what he did not know to be a red curtain, to sit on what he did not know was a primary-blue plastic bench. He loaded up the game by pressing one simple gray button in the middle of the screen.
Sam's world exploded into color. He didn't have the words. Only the eyes for it. His eyes made words in his mind, made images in his mind that buzzed and trilled and spun.
When it was over, Sam pulled back what he knew was a rich red curtain. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was fiercely red and worth seeing.
He shuffled back towards his home, where he wondered if Max was in his room at all.
He began to pick up his pace, running full tilt, tripping over his own feet.
As he passed the spot he had last seen the woman, he saw she had left one white shoe behind before leaping into the gray sea below. Sam shook his head fiercely, and also understood. The game was killer, it was beyond his world, beyond her world. He looked back at his apartment, and knew Max wasn't in his room.
--
Phew man, that was 25 minutes. 20 min is hard to write a decent anything--but a good length of time to not overthink it! Not mythical, not original, pretty bland, but is something!! Thank you Madeleine!
This is so wonderful. And it brought me so much joy to see you trying out this prompt! This whole little story was rich and imaginative. And the narrator! I loved the omniscience, I felt like I was inside Sam’s mind.
I have a few favorite lines in here.
This absence of color was not notable, and suited him fine.
Sam could hear it, like he could hear most subtle and potentially unimportant things.
He couldn't see it, but he knew it was fiercely red and worth seeing.
He made it to the game vestibule. (I know this one’s simple, but the word vestibule is cool.)
I could read a whole book about these brothers I think, and about this game.
I know how hard that 20 minute line is…. I find I’m always juuuuuuust about to get to the point haha.
I love your words! And I’m so grateful you shared. More more more!
Thank you so much 😭for your encouragement!