Buffalo nickel

Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor
of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you
find. What were you doing that year?

It's 2014. 

Curiosity killed the cat once, but it still had eight lives remained not to miss a chance of finding out, what was there, in that nice hole in the wall of an old house in the centre of the city. There was nothing curious about that hole from a human's point of view, but that cat needed to find a new shelter for itself, since a pack of stray dogs has chased it out its previous cosy "house", and that hole, which was definately leading somewhere inside the building, was of a great interest and importance. 

It was an early morning, and there was no one in the yard, so the cat felt safe, while it was staring at the hole, trying to find out, where it led or was it big enough for the cat to skin through. The first rays of the sun, piercing through the heavy clouds, were mild, and warm summer breeze promised a little bit hot afternoon, but the cat hardly had time to enjoy such nice weather, which, by the way, was quite rare in that city. It was raining all night long, its fur was still wet and paws were dirty, so it must find another place to hide from the nasty rain and dogs before the evening. And, besides, it was hungry. 

It took the cat almost half an hour to smell the hole and to listen to what was going on inside it, but the animal still hasn't made up its mind about it. There must be basement, as she heard the sound of water stream, running through the pipes. There could be mice and rats also, which was good. But on the other hand, there could be some mouse poison there as well, which wasn't good at all. The cat didn't have an intention to take risks, because the hole still looked somewhat dangerous to it, but its inner curiosity was a way stronger feeling than its self-preservation instinct. The cat was just about getting through the hole, when the metal door behind it opened with a squeaky noise. 

The cat turned its head to the noise as fast as it could. There were two girls on the porch, the first, a taller and redhead one, told something to another girl, who carelessly closed the door behind them and answered to her friend. Both of them were wearing jeans and backpacks. The cat's eyes narrowed as it watched the girls crossing the yard. It was ready to run away in case there would be any danger for it to stay there, but they seemed not to notice the cat at all - the redhead girl was busy putting her sunglasses on, while another one pulled her long black hair away from her face and took some photos of the sky, which now was so cloudless and clear, as if it has never rained before.

"Tourists" - thought the cat, losing all the interest to the girls. When they left the yard, the cat turned back to the hole and dissappered in its darkness. 

The Clock

Write about anything you’d like. 
Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, 
“I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.”

Sorry,

but I've fucked up with the rules again,

and I'm not really sorry. 

She heard the car door slam behind her, and immediately looked at her wristwatch, but her mind has failed to register what time it actually was. The thing was that she didn't need to know the exact time as she has never been late in her life, especially when it was about the airports.  

Hardly possible to imagine, but she spent the most part of her life being aware of so many events which were meant to happen and they did happen sooner or later, though her name wasn't Cassandra, she has never touched a single book about witchcraft and wore a sceptical smile, when people around were talking about "the sixth sense". It was the way she was born, and such a thing as a wristwatch was completely useless for her from a practical point of view. Why should she bother about time, when she could see the future for so many miles ahead? 

But she kept wearing it, so it was a gift, one of the most precious things she'd ever gotten.

It's always amazed her in a way, how people could give a completely meaningless thing "a meaning" and keep that thing safe and close to the heart no matter what it really was - a cinema ticket, a nice seashell found at the beach or a dead flower, hidden in between the pages of a favourite book. And she also had a nice collection of useless precious rubbish of her own, but her wristwatch was a way more special. 

Firstly, it was a gift from her closest friend, who now was so far away from her, and having that thing on her wrist made the almost physical pain of missing a little bit easier. Then, she was always wearing something at her wrists or fingers to keep her eyes on it, when she felt nervous, and that black leather bracelet fitted that purpose perfectly. And the last and most peculiar thing about this wristwatch was it's role of a reminder, that time was never late as well and all the events which happen in our lives keep tending to happen at an exact time. 

That was the thought which was echoing inside her head all the time her taxi was driving to the airport, as she was going to leave the country for her best friend's wedding - another marker on the map of her life she has been aware of for so many years already. But forseeing the future doesn't mean pure awareness of how to react on or feel the right way about that future. And her-own-self tragedy was  her "never been feeling right" about a single situation. An emotional cripple she was. 

Even now, standing at the airport and looking at the sky of such a perfect shade of blue it could make her cry, she, who was just about to get on a plane, come to another country and meet her dearest friend who was going to get married and live happily ever after, smiled of course, smiled that kind of a genuine hollywood smile, beaming like mid-summer sinshine. But, alongside that feeling of teenage reckless happiness she got a feeling of another kind - a miserable taste of self-pitty at her tongue, as she felt awfully alone. And that, she thought, was not right at all. 

... She looked at her wristwatch again, trying to concentrate on the exact time now. It was 7.15 am and she still had plenty of time for a cup of black tea, sorting her emotional mish mash out and signing a wedding card for her friend. There was still time for her to be the happiest person ever in the whole world one day, because time, a heartless bitch though, has never failed anything, and that was the one and only thing she has surely believed in through all of her life. 

Undo

If you could un-invent "un-event", undo something, what would it be? 
Discuss why, potential repercussions, or a possible alternative.


Then, out of the blue, came silence.

Her eyes, full of tears, were staring at the yellowish ceiling of the small room with a big window and wooden floor of a nasty brown colour. Hands were shaking, head was aching and heavy, she kept biting her lower lip, trying to calm down the anger burning inside her.

She was almost 14, redhead and straight-out,
smart enough to keep people away from her true-gentle-self and play a role of a nasty cynical girl, who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, except snakes.

But now she was scared.
Five peaceful years had passed, and today every single childish nightmare has come back to drown her in fear and helplessness again.

And she hated it.

It was easier to survive through all of those evenings and nights, when she was a five-year-old, cause a child has a perfect ability to forget and forgive easily as if summer rain has washed away all the blood and tears from her pillow.

She slightly touched the back of her head - the thin scar she's got, when she was 5, was still there to remind her of one of the worst nights of her childhood.

Now, being older and seeing things sharper, she knew, she would never forgive him again, if she got another bruise or scar or, even worse, another nightmare to live with through all of her life.

But she hated herself even more, because she was the one and only reason of it.

If it wasn't her, she, a person whom this redhead girl loved most of all, could leave him, come back to her parents and start a new life, which could be so much happier than living in a small rainy town away from her mother and father, locked in a room with him and a hostile daughter.
If it wasn't her, he could do whatever he want to, but not ruin her mother's life.

She knew, what she had to do.

A knife, heavy and sharp, was cold and somehow soothing in her hand.
She cut a lock of her red hair out, checking, how sharp was a knife, and, satisfied with result, looked at her left wrist. Her skin, dead-pale, revealed a nice net of blue veins. She closed her eyes and heard the beating of her own heart in that creepy silence of the room.

...she was standing at the balcony, a cold knife still in her hand, watching the rays of September sun piercing through the heavy grayish clouds and tangling with her long red hair, making them shine like burning fire.

She was almost 14, redhead and straight-out,
smart enough to understand that life is the one and precious and beautiful no matter how hard it can be sometimes. If she did this to herself, she would never undo this. And that feeling was the most scariest of all she's ever experienced.