THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.
YOUR PART: Throw out words from the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a little challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.
Each evening I'll post the beginnings of a short story using some of the suggested words, As to when I'll end those stories...well, that's what the rest of the year is for.
So join in the comments with R words. names, places, moods, genres, things, whatever you want to throw at me. My creative bucket awaits. If you're here later in the day and I've already posted the story start, feel free to leave words for the next day's letter.
A thorn ripped into Rachel's finger. She dropped the pruning shears and sucked on the blood, partly to keep three-year old Annie from seeing the blood, but mostly to keep the child from hearing the long string of obscenities begging to fly off her tongue. Damn recalcitrant roses.
She set the red bloom she'd just snipped into her bucket and checked her finger. It was still bleeding. Wrapping it in a tissue from her pocket, she picked up her shears.
"What's that one called?" Annie asked, peering at the lone red bloom in the bucket filled with pink and white.
"Rambling Ribald. Do you remember helping me plant it last summer?"
Annie shook her strawberry-blonde curls. Rachel hoped they stayed that way forever. She looked like a little doll, so adorable.
"Did you get hurt, mommy?" She pointed a chubby finger at the tissue.
"Just a pick. It will be fine." A wet warmth running down her hand begged to differ. She dropped the soaked tissue. Her finger was covered in what looked like rust.