Please sent me prompts via privet message because I'm running out of ideas. I really don't wanna on break for the book because I don't have any ideas.
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Unread texts, missed calls, pointless emails and loud knocks.
They say Everything has a purpose in life. Perhaps toasters were made by God because one day a Boy will be in the 'kitchen electronics' section in need of a toaster, he finds one, but a Girl puts her hand on it the second he did. They fall in love and BAM. That's why toasters were made
Although, I think differently. Everything is kinda...useless. You eat, drink, pay taxes, think, sleep, die.
I sit on a wooden chair as I stare out the glass window, looking at the field of uselessness. The tears from the sky are slowly falling down the window, making a beautiful design of water drops. But it's all pointless.
Two knocks on me door make me flinch. I was admiring useless beauty, what could possibly be more of importance? I sighed quietly because I knew I had to speak. But speaking hurt.
"Come inside..." I invite, I felt like the exhuastment from speaking go to my knees and the frustration of interrupting my useless quiet go to my head.
The door opens, and enters my room is my beautiful mother. "Morning, kissyboy. I'm heading to work, call me anytime, okay?" I nod before holding my arms out for a hug.
She chuckles as she walks toward me and hugs me tightly before leaving.
I sigh as stare I longingly at the spot my mother once stood. I go back to my chair and stare outside again.
The grey clouds swarming the sky like a contagious spiral of nature. I allow my eyes to wonder around the field of uselessness but I stop when something catches my eyes.
A boy walks through the rain. He wasn't there a few seconds before, he wears all white, even his skin is extremely pale.
I feel like a magnetic pulse is trying to shove me toward him, to say something. I can't see much of his face, so I want to go closer. I sit up from my chair and grab my jean jacket despite the uselessness it'll do to the rain and my dry clothes.
I exit my house and close the door loudly, the bell on the ringing. That bell was useless. But it was pretty.
I go to the side of my house, wondering what he'll think when he sees a boy staring at him as if he's an angel.
He's too occupied picking flowers to notice me. Flowers were pretty, why must he pick them?
Why would someone want someone else to pluck a growing, beautiful, thing of nature just so they can keep it in a glass container for the need to please the eye?
He must sense my presence, because he stands up from his crouching position and turns around.
Yes, he definitely senses my presence. I stand, unclear of how to explain myself for spontaneously leaving my bedroom to go see a boy dressed in white while it's raining.
The drops of the rain, the sound of the wind, the hum of the crickets and buzzing of cars that pass unnoticed.
"Are you Mitch Grassi?" The boy asks. His light blond hair is completely dry despite the rain. His skin so pure and blueeyes filled with such...excitement and thrill. I can only imagine what he's so happy about. His jaw is sharp but yet he looks so cuddly in a weird intimidating way.
I'm confused, how does he know my name? For I never really leave the comfort and calm environment of my home to leave and talk to other beings of my species. It's all quite useless to me.
"Yes." I answer as if I'm a student taking attendance. I don't know who he is or what he plans to do, but I don't know any better then to have a weird encounter with a strange blue eye'd boy who is standing in the field of flowers next to my home.
"My name is Scott Hoying. Do you remember me?" He asks. I've never met him before, how could I possibly remember someone I've never met? For his words leave me confused, I stay for more and answer truthfully to satisfy his question.
"We have never met." I answer. He there smiles at me. Why is he smiling? What is the purpose that could he so important that he feels the need to move his mouth in a certain position to express his joy?
"I know." He says, the thrill drilling off of his words as I wait for my mind to discover the purpose of this.
"Then how am I supposed to know you?" I ask, paying no mind to the chills that spread across my body from the cold, icy, rain.
He then holds out his hand.
I feel a sense of confusion yet anxiousness. I've never met this strange boy in my field of flowers, for have I forgotten the words behind the phrase 'stranger danger?" Has it slipped from my mind that this stranger knows my name?
Yes.
Perhaps this is another useless thing to add to my long list; another encounter I can talk about to random people in the market who have no true interest in my words; my stories.
"Would you like to see something magical?" He asks me, his handing in front of him as he, probably, awaits for my grasp.
When a strange boy asks you if you want to see something magical, your mind travels to the most horrid of thoughts. The most useless things stored in your brain specifically for you to assume you're in danger.
For I, being my useless self, would indeed like to see something magical.
For if it is something of negative events, I shall return to my bedroom, letting the sound of my fireplace fill my ears and make my worries leave.
But if I truly see something magical, that would be very nice.
"Yes." I reply. I take his hand and in a split second we leave from the field of flowers, we spiral through a white cloud for I can only assume is a few seconds before we both land not so gracefully on the ground of an unknown place.
For he is already stood, as I am on the floor from the impact of this magical thing he has done. hundreds of questions flash in my head as my heart pounds to the rush and slight fear of what's happened.
My heart beat has synced up to my thoughts and now beats rapidly.
"Where are we?" I ask in a panic, quickly standing up and brushing the dirt off of my tight jeans, grateful that whatever seeable germs on the ground didn't stick to my jeans, white shirt, and jacket.
The boy smiled as I looked around, baffled at my own surroundings.
We were in the flower field...at my house. But it was being built.
"1921."
My heart began racing as I looked around, still dizzy from whatever trick he did to get is here. Was this all a prank? One of those Instagram videos when someone goes into a bathroom and then walks into a meeting?
"How did you know my name?" I finally managed to ask, my mind is filled to the brim with confusion and questions, but only a few get out.
"We need to help your grandmother." The man spoke. I stammered my words before finally being able to form them?
"Pardon? What do you mean? (when you nod your head yes.)
"Your grandmother. She lives right over there. We need to help her."
"My grandmother is dead." I said with my eyes squinting and my face feeling cold. My grandmother died of breast cancer a few years back, how could she possibly be alive in this--oh, wait.
"It's 1920. Your grandmother is 10." I opened my mouth to speak but soon closed it."
I only knew my granny for a short time. She was when she had my mother, Nel. She had her on accident and didn't plan on having any children, ever.
She died when she was was ninety-one. When my mom was thirty and I was eight.
"How is this possible?" I asked as my eyes widened, realization settling in me.
He shook his head.
"Don't talk. Just follow me."
*****
