It scratches. Not too much. Just a itsy bitsy teeny weeny little polka dotty bit. I say so, but mommy doesn’t hear because she’s too busy listening to daddy. Daddy hates it when I try to talk when he’s talking, so I stop and try to sit as still as I can. But it scratches and that makes me wriggly. I stand up and walk over to where mommy is. I stand right up against her, just so she’ll know I’m there, but she takes a step to the side so that I’m not so close. I look at her face. I see now that her eyes are all red and puffy. Like she’s been crying. I squeeze her hand, and she looks back at me, and I smile at her, wide as I possibly can. That just makes the tears start all over. I wish daddy would stop talking so that I could tell her about the funny thing that I thought, but he just keeps on talking. Still, mommy lets me hold her hand. I hold it tight to make her feel better. I stare at the numbers that are getting smaller and smaller with every breathe that I take and wonder what they mean. But I don’t ask. Last time I asked, daddy started shouting and mommy started crying and no one answered my question. So I just watch them get shrink and try not to think about how it scratches.
“We’re going on a trip,” mommy says. Her eyes are still red, but not as puffy. Daddy’s pulling my purple bag down from the top of the cupboard. I love purple more than any other colour. I think I love purple more than I love mommy sometimes, but then mommy does something that makes me love her even more. Still, just seeing the purple bag makes me excited. Daddy puts all the clothes he can find inside. I think about telling him not to put the ugly sweater in, but then I think that might make him sad, and he seems sad enough already, so I let him put what he wants into the bag instead. I follow mommy to the car, and I try to climb into the back seat like normal, but mommy says that I should sit in the front. “You’re a big girl, now,” she says and tries to smile, but her face just looks strange, not happy like normal. I climb into the front seat and she buckles me in tight. Daddy climbs in next to me, and he smiles too.
The numbers get smaller and smaller till I can almost count them, and daddy keeps looking at them and making the car go faster and faster. The trees outside the window go whooshing past all green and blur-like. Mommy just stares at them quietly from the backseat. Every time I look at her, her eyes puff up again, so I look at her through the mirror so she can’t see me looking.
“Where are we going?”
“Everywhere,” he says.
You’re the parent of a happy, healthy 9-year old. One day they find a strange bracelet buried under a tree, and put it on. It lights up and counts down the time they have left – which in your child’s case, is only three days.
Write at least 500 words inspired by the prompt above. Try not to be too serious about it (the prompt definitely isn’t!) – rather try writing from a perspective, or using an approach, that you wouldn’t ordinarily use. Experiment!