It's time for another round of 300 Words (a paragraph prompt challenge featured in our monthly Just Write! enewsletter)! Read on to enjoy what creative words flowed from the leading sentence:
"He tried to remember who had talked him into this."
He tried to remember who had talked him into this. The asinine stunt now having progressed in barely two winks from hairbrained to disastrous. But Jeremy’s head hurt too much for blame-game trifles. His predicament. . . The plane must have hit some turbulence just as he made his jump; he’d wacked his noggin a good one on the door frame going out. He had been dazed for far too long before grappling with his ripcord. That delay was both ominous and life-saving: Jeremy’s parachute did not have time to fully open. To land where intended, then, would have meant certain death. On the other hand, despite being in near total free-fall along with a partially deployed chute, strong and favorable winds aloft delivered him to a wooded area a mile south of the intended drop site. If Jeremy’s luck was thus seen as holding, he might be more apt to agree at a more auspicious time, for his landing was on the brutal side. It was, however, cushioned by the fully clothed branches of a large evergreen. He had struck with such force that his body crashed through the first fifteen to eighteen feet of lesser branches helping to slow his furious decent. Jeremy was left wedged and hurt in amongst the larger diameter branches, thirty-five feet off the ground with his useless parachute tangled above him. His head was far from the only portion of his body to give pain; it came from nearly every limb or torso muscle he could move. Broken bones? “Yeah, certainly. More than….” Wait a minute, he thought to himself, this sky-diving thing, it was Joey Amons’ idea. With the recall, Jeremy allowed himself an audible chuckle, but the mirth ‘lasted quick’, as he liked to put it, because he shut it off in hurry and sucked in air. Jeremy had found a new hurt, maybe even a cracked or broken rib. Well, best not to move anything, he guessed. Settle in and wait. “Resolved”, he whispered aloud. “I’ll not call out ‘till I hear searchers on the ground.”
He tried to remember who had talked him into this. Matthew, framed by the floor to ceiling windows stood unblinking at the court yard where the students sat, stood, leaned, squatted, lay, tossed empty paper cups into garbage cans heaving crumpled paper; all engaged in their own egocentric selves not noticing him.
He saw no binoculars, telescopes, long lens cameras on tripods or any one nudging each other pointing in his direction. Squinting, he blocked the morning rays from his eyes. His eyes followed the fire-red haired figure on the skate board weaving like a tilted wind sail toward the students; he thought she resembled the girl from his Renaissance Art class. It was her and he adored her.
He watched a cloister of friends embraced her with outstretched Octopus arms pulling her closer until only a small tuft of her hair could be seen. Matthew heard the sounds behind him. The cathedral ceilings echoed whispers bouncing haphazardly around the walls like fumbled rubber balls, sheets of paper were ripped from their bindings sounding like torn fabric, and the whirling sound of sharpening pencils mimicked humming bird wings Matthew waited, as the instructor outlined, prepped, defined and directed the class. Staggered questions from the room interrupted her dialog, as she interjected with escalating finality the expected behavior. Muted stillness blanketed the room, until the instructor spoke. “Class I would like you to meet Matthew, our human form model for today.” Matthew pivoted ever so slowly on the heightened stool, willing the gulp in his throat to silently trickle down and internally chanting, “Stay limp”. His untied robe slid to the floor, with an immobile head he scanned the inquisitive gawks and saw his red-haired beauty’s eyes downcast and drawing.
Matthew with a defeated sigh, settled into a statuesque pose.
Thank you for reading (and/or participating in) this month's 300 Words, a paragraph prompt challenge featured in our monthly Just Write! enewsletter. If you haven't already, join in the fun and sign up for the Just Write enews so you will always know about our writer groups, resources, classes, activities, and the like. Tell your friends and write on!
Lately it has felt like time is just flying by. So for next month's prompt, let's finish - in 300 words or less - the line:
"Time waits for no one."
Just email your original response to this line in 300 words or less to Abbie at firstname.lastname@example.org by February 20th to make the next newsletter and blog post!