She had been on the trail for many years now. Eighteen to be exact.
So far, she had enjoyed it: listening to the birds, basking in the wonderful views, spending time with fellow hikers.
She had no specific destination, but she enjoyed the adventure. Life was beautiful just the way it was.
One day, she discovered a certain stirring in her soul, an urge for something more. She wanted a goal, somewhere to go, instead of just meandering around the woods. She wanted a purpose.
But there were so many trails to choose from. So many destinations she could strive for. What if she chose the wrong one? What if she started on a trail, only twenty miles in to find this isn’t what she really wanted?
She wanted a companion, but she had be be careful in this choice too. What if they grew to enjoy being together only to want later to go different paths?
She had a decision to make. She could keep meandering, having no purpose, or trust the Maker of the trail to guide her each step.
She picked up her backpack and strapped it on her back. It was time to make a change.
This is from a journal entry I wrote for my Acting 1 class at North Greenville with Amy Dunlap the Fall 2015 semester.
Sitting there on the couch, I knew I needed to concentrate on the task in front of me. Looking at the script in front of me, I tried to imagine what the character could be feeling.
Was she saying what she was really feeling? Was there some emotion hidden behind the words on the page? If I could read her thoughts as she talked with the other character, what would I see?
I analyzed what she felt about the other character and how this would influence her thoughts and words. What did her words reveal and what were they hiding? Why would she react to the other character in a certain way?
Exploring the different feelings and thoughts of the character was an interesting and exciting experience I had never really had before.
The triumph and excitement I felt when I believed I had uncovered the character’s inner emotions was exhilarating.
Finally, I would better be able to better understand the character’s motives now that I realized her true feeling and thoughts, and therefore better play the character
She was hurt and was trying fruitlessly to fly. She seemed relived to crawl onto my finger.
I walked back to my dorm room, the bright yellow-and-black butterfly fluttering on my hand.
Pulling out my phone, I researched and figured out she is a Eastern Tiger Swallowtail. I named her Sunshine for her yellow wings.
When I got in the room, I tried to make a comfy home for her. I took a sturdy grocery bag and a mesh laundry bag and made her a temporary house. I even cut up an orange and gave it too her and later made a sugar water mixture and put it in a bottle cap for her to drink out of.
I was a little worried at first that she wasn’t eating or drinking. However, I was finally able to get her to drink the sugar water.
My roommate and I enjoyed having our little pet for the two days we did. Soon, she was flying around the dorm room. We decided we needed to let her go.
When we took her outside, she seemed hesitant to leave us. Finally, she soared up and disappeared into the white blossoms of a nearby tree.
Goodbye, Sunshine. May the flowers you land on always have a little extra nectar and the birds be blinded by you like the sunshine you really are (just long enough they don’t eat you, of course).
Thank you for adding a little brightness to our days.
The stairs creaked as she climbed up the attic stairs. Her heart raced as she reached for the doorknob.
Slowly she turned the handle. Half-closing her eyes, she flung the door open.
She heard a terrified scream.
It had begun that morning when she couldn’t find her family. But she did find a note on the table….
To Whom It May Concern:
I left you alive for a reason. If you want to see your family alive again, come to the attic of the deserted mansion across the street.
You have until 11:00.
-My name is of no concern to you.
She had no time to think. It was already 10:45.
She grabbed her shoes and ran to the deserted mansion. Out of breath, she jerked the door open and half-raced, half-tripped up the stairs. Reaching out for the door handle, she finally thought about what she was doing.
I could scream for help. I could call the police.
She looked at her watch. 10:59.
She had no time. She had to open the door.
Her eyes had barely adjusted to the eerie gray of the attic before what seemed like a mob of people jumped at her. She didn’t realize she was screaming until she heard her own voice. Surprisingly, instead of silencing her, her attackers yelled back.
This was from a prompt we used in a college group Lit Bits.
“Look here!” my cat glared at me.
I was stunned, naturally. How in the world could my cat look at me this way?
“I’m tired of hearing all your secrets. Why would I care that you like him? I promise you, I don’t. I hate hearing about you going on walks with out me. I mean, why would you care about him more than a cat! And then you think you can just talk with me and expect me to just listen without a word. Well I’m tired of it!”
My darling cat. Just yelling at me. I couldn’t believe it! How could he speak in such a rude tone of voice.
“But I trusted you.”
“And why? You think I care about your life when you walk out with him and desert me. Do you bore him with your secrets? He probably doesn’t listen. I mean, he’s a dog!”