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“Stuck”: Inktober Day #12: Writer Edition
I’m using Inktober prompts to generate daily writing
I’m always jealous of my visual artist friends, especially my sister, when Inktober rolls around. Then this year I realized that even though I don’t draw, I do write, and it might be fun to take the same prompts and see what twenty minutes of writing on the given topic elicits. So I thought I’d just play and see where things take me (knowing that a lot of what I write will be dreck), and maybe you’d like to join too. Here are this year’s prompts.
“I’m stuck on you.” That’s what came out of his mouth. Sometimes he thought about this, waking up alone in the unrumpled bed. Why did he put it like that, and why did she accept it? It sounded painful, or unpleasant, to be stuck like a mouse on a glue trap. It wasn’t haunting or erotic, it wasn’t the stuff of a love song, although there was probably at least one song out there that used that line in the refrain. And yet, he’d said it, and she’d leaned in and kissed him and it had been all over.
And now, here he was. Same bed, same room, although she’d always been the one who refreshed their pillows and bought new comforters every few years. She’d expect him to notice and he never did, he just didn’t see those kinds of things. She’d act like he’d commited a felony, some days. He’d come home and kick the dirt of his boots and she’d hover by the bottom of the stairs and he’d know something new had come in and they were about to play a game of whether he was smart enough to notice.
He never was.
