Writing Date Orange: CHARACTER


We had another Meetup today here in Seattle!

If you were one of the participants of today’s Meetup, use this space to share your writings with the world.

Please respect this space if you did not participate.

Thanks so much to all of you who showed up to write our little fingers off. See you later!



p.s. the Comments section is not behaving properly. thus, if you would like to REPLY DIRECTLY to a fellow writer, please type their username at the top of your Reply. i’ve submitted this issue, so hopefully it will be resolved sooner rather than later. thnx for your patience!


  1. “Even’s Accident”

    What do you mean when you say, “car”? I don’t think that I know what this … thing? … is. Is it a machine of sorts that causes accidents, or what exactly are you trying to communicate to me when you say it was a “car accident”?

    “I don’t understand,” I attempt again after the third time the fireman shuffles me down the sidewalk. “It’s a car accident, miss,” the fireman states yet again. “Ugh, I know! I know!” And just then, I see a girl walking toward the flames that begin to burst out just beyond the fireman’s shoulder. “Oh my god,” I whisper in delight. “Yes, that’s right, miss. Walk that way, quickly please,” the fireman instructs.

    Scared and annoyed, I huff at the fireman, “But there’s a girl over there!” The fireman looks over his shoulder, and I disappear.

    Reappearing a few moments before said accident, I am perched high on the rooftop overlooking the intersection where this “car accident” will inevitably unfold. A pack of chocolate covered Donettes in one hand, hot black coffee in the other, I sit and wait for the accident involving cars. Observing while I sit and wait, I swing my legs over the edge of the building. Kicking happily, I spot an old pair of housemaids on the adjacent roof. I give them a wave and a smile. One of the two catches my gestures and waves back. And then the rumbles begin.

    At first, they are low and soft, but then, as the large cement truck attempts to round the corner, another vehicle crashes into it causing a dozen-car pile up both in front of and behind the trucks. Gasping at first in horror, I am soon intrigued.

    Down on the street I spot the girl approaching the flames. Dressed in some sort of white sack where only her head, hands and feet are exposed, the girl walks fearlessly toward the wreckage. Quickly, I stand and follow the girl below. A tiny piece of gravel frees itself from under my shoe, and I slip.

    Falling to the street below, I yell out to the girl, “Up here!” Luckily, she turns and sees me. The next thing I know, the SNAP of spacetime opens around us leaving in our wake an explosion of no small destructive power.

    Calmly, I wade through the serene pool near the far moonlit edge of the purple lake, splashing happily. In the distance floats a large glass house. The girl appears in a window, and then as she walks out of the front doors, she forms herself into a large tree at the edge where the house becomes water. Carefully, I swim to meet her.

    Forming back into a familiar human form, the woman approaches me. “You cause much trouble everywhere you appear,” the woman begins. “I don’t mean to,” I admit; “I only ever wish to know it all.” “Of course this is impossible,” the woman smiles. “Reconciling this will prove useful in your survival.” I lower my head in feigned shame. Annoyed, I look up into the woman’s face, “You …” “Go dry off now; it’s time to go back,” the woman interrupts.

    Again carefully, I eyeball the woman as I pull myself from the water. “I don’t want to go back,” I admit. “But that choice is not up to you.” “I’ll just stay,” I reiterate. “Very well. Let your delusions be your guide,” the woman dismisses as she searches for the right place to dive. Prepared, the Baubles announce the departure time. SNAP.

    Atop the roof again, overlooking the intersection already erupted into chaos below, I hop down and walk toward the stairwell. When I enter into the light of day again, I look for the girl and spot her just as some man looks to be intimidating her in some way. Slowly, I sneak my way to be able to watch. I can’t discern exactly what it is that he’s doing to her, but she seems unphased or unaware. A bolt of something … light? … but not exactly light. Mist? I can’t know and therefore cannot explain. The girl’s down.

    Fearful, the man is definitely some type of enemy. If he’s hunting Bromides, then I can’t be captured too. Carefully, the man approaches the girl and then gently lifts her off the ground and flings her onto his shoulder. Waiting until he rounds the corner, out of sight, I run and follow as closely as I can. After only a few blocks through the city, the man approaches the heavy metal door under a sign that reads, “BAR.” Once the heavy door screeches shut, I run across the street and enter.


  2. Car accident

    I’m at a stop sign and a guy rear ends me. No one expects to get hit, but who would think a Prince of Demons would get it. 10-9-8… how long does it take to care?
    Clearly, I wasn’t to blame on this one, and I couldn’t care less about the non-existent damage to my bumper or the totally fixable tiny bit of whiplash, so did I really have to get out and talk to him?
    The windows of my car shattered with the force of the explosion from behind me, my rear view mirror reflected the orange fireball headed my way, and the roof rattled and dented from the falling debris and metal remaining down.

    “He’ll and blast,” I muttered sharply as I got out of the heating interior of my car. I may be a demon but I sure as hell wasnt going to fry in my Volvo.

    I ran toward the car that hit me. Well, I ran back to where it had been. There was nothing left but a twisted mass of aluminum frame unfolding like a flower from the remnants of the hood and shattered glass glittered in the fire against the wet, dark asphalt.

    No blood.
    Where was the driver?
    WHAT was the driver?
    I looked around for signs of a body. More like body parts at this point. But there wasn’t anything.

    “Vaporized?” I mumbled to myself. The fire wasn’t burning that hot: red, yellow, orange, not blue or white. The flames had spread to the trees lining the street and dances in the dark windows if the silent townhouses. Would someone call the fire brigade? Department, not brigade.

    No sirens yet, time still to do some digging, magically speaking. I started the scrying spell, arms outstretched, chanting a magic gather on my fingers when—

    “What ARE you doing?” A shrill little voice pierced my concentration.

    “Hell,” I said softly, magic leeching away. I fixed her with a sharp stare, looking for an auto, any aura, that could possibly mark her as “Other.” Nothing, but then the black smoke was growing so thick, it might be interfering. I inhaled through my teeth: maybe I could taste her heritage? No luck, unless she was gasoline and melted car parts or…

    Wait, what was that? Ozone and… was that stardust?

    Shit. The council would have to be told. THEY were back and already causing chaos.

    I turned my attention back to the little girl. 6? 7? She was small, but I wasn’t a good judge for kids. Was she one of them or just a bystander? She was dressed in a white ragged dress, as if someone had cut holes out of a sack for her arms and head. And she was barefoot.

    I grew cold. She was barefoot. In Chicago. In November. There was nothing for it. I turned my palm towards her and shot out the mother of all stunning spells. It rocketed her off her feet and slammed her back against one of the houses, leaving a dent in the bricks and cement dust rising around her still form.

    I went to her and wrapped her in my overcoat. She stared fixedly at me, unable to move or speak, but still conscious. I’d take her to Sanctuary, and let the Keeper sort it out.

    I smiled. Yes, let Abby deal with it.

    “Sorry, love,” I said to the frightened child, “but you can’t stay here and you are much to dangerous to be let out alone. But don’t be afraid: when you wake, you’ll find yourself among friends.” And with that I cast my hands over her pinwheeling eyes and willed her to sleep.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. In the moments immediately following the devastating explosion, while the steel vehicle frames were still hot and wrapping around each other, and the smell of burning flesh was just beginning to waft up, she walked up to the licking flames without hesitation.

    Coming upon a flaming pile of something vile and finding the smell undesirable, the little girl (wearing what looked like a big, white potato sack with holes cut out in the corners) jumped up and stuck her limbs out in every direction, stretching her potato sack dress taut and forming a kind of webbing between her hands and feet. She then proceeded to make a “Swooshing” sound with her mouth as she zoomed around to the other side of the flaming wreckage and out of sight, the Evil Knievel of flying squirrel kindergarteners.

    Commotion of all other manner escalated as countless other drivers and pedestrians scurried about, tending to the more minor circumstances around the perimeter of the multi-car pile-up and associated destruction that the little girl just disappeared into the heart of.

    The little girl inspected the wreckage with the utmost scrutiny, creeping into scorching crevasses in the twisted metal, lifting up little slabs of stone and signage for evidence of life, people, anything stirring. A few bystanders turned and pointed, thinking for a moment, impossibly, of course, that they had seen a little girl climbing around what is basically a molten bomb crater. Choppers swooped in overhead, desperate not to miss the action and eager to introduce the drumbeat of their blades into the cacophony.

    Just then, the little girl darted out from behind a pile of rubble and dashed across the street right in front of everyone, arms fully outstretched and wings engaged as her tiny little feet motored as fast as they could turn over. Then suddenly she stopped on a dime, her her whipping around her face as a winding tentacle of flame lapped out at her back from the fiery beast behind her.

    “There isn’t anyone else in there,” she said calmly to the momentarily stunned group of onlookers. “I will go talk to them later,” her voice rang out, inexplicably clear.

    And in the fraction of a second thereafter, while they all tried to piece together what they just saw, she zipped away and disappeared.

    What happened next she would only remember thereafter as a dream. Some ways away from the explosion, she came upon an interesting man and detoured to proffer him a few questions, but somehow she ended up quickly transplanted to some other place, with some other people, talking about some other things the likes of which she had only heard rumors before. It was all rather interesting, for what it was, but as time would pass (ironic as that is in her case) the fine details of the meeting in the strange place would fade into something that much more resembled a new background condition for her moving forward. Knowing, then, of another layer of reality, behind the scenes, of course, thusly revealed to her by the chance encounter and subsequent flurry of events with the interesting (but suspiciously cranky) man stuck in traffic, she was able to incorporate additional colors into her palette of reality, and it certainly pleased her on the whole, and made her later work much more worthwhile in the process.


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