I have to say, I was pretty stoked about this writing prompt the whole way through, though writing from the perspective of a blind person as a person who's never been blind before brings up some interesting challenges. In writing my own response I found myself having to constantly re-evaluate the way I was describing the scene. I tend to use a lot of visuals when I write, a lot of details about things and people that you could only really know if you were able to see. This meant a lot of re-writing and thanks to Chelsea and Tim, I think I managed to get all of the glaring problems ironed out.
Also, writing within a word limit is always a challenge for me. I mean, I can be seriously long winded and prose-y if I don't reign myself in. I recently participated in an online writing contest and just about all of their challenges had a word limit which both frustrated me to no end and motivated me to make whatever scene I was writing the best it could be, cutting out the fluff and cramming it with as much detail and meaning as I could. Since Chelsea and I decided on a word limit of 350 for this challenge, I got to experience that again and I must say it was as invigorating as ever!
Anyway, enough of my blathering, you're here to read aren't you? Here's Chelsea's writing challenge response which is gorgeous. Enjoy! [Also, if any of you were bored enough to try this yourself I would love to see what you came up with! It's always so cool to see different takes on the same prompt!]
And you can go here for my response.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
My chest hurts as I take a breath
in and let it out. An elderly woman approaches me, smelling as old ladies smell
(something like Chanel No. 5 and mothballs). I remove my purse from the seat
next to me and offer her the seat. She sits down, letting out a long sigh, and
turns on her portable fan. The recycled air hits my face every few seconds. Foam
blades wiz inside the metal cage over and over, it’s almost melodic. Then she
coughs and the train takes a sudden turn.
The jostling almost costs me my
stick.
The subway is my hideaway as well
as my playground. It’s the most exciting part of my day. I’m in the in between
with strangers. We’re all going somewhere. We’re all leaving something behind.
I blink the sweat out of my eyes
and adjust my sunglasses.
The heat is relentless and it’s
not even eight in the morning. My hair sticks to my neck and curls itself
underneath my armpits, tickling and teasing me. A couple sits across from me, the
woman fretting over their son’s first day in kindergarten and the man not
saying much at all.
Ah, it’s that time again, isn’t
it? Yes, late August. School bells, lunch boxes, crayons. Monkey bars, the blue
sky, you can touch it—go for it—don’t look down. Don’t think about it. Tears threaten to fall. The subway stops and
the couple rise from their seats, walking past me.
“Did you see how she rushed off
to the other kids? She didn’t even notice James.”
“I’m sure she had a lot on her
mind. It’s the first day.”
“But it’s her job to—”
“James will be fine. Everything
will be fine.”
They exit the subway and the
doors hiss closed.
I rub my eyes and hate the day I
thought I could fly.
“Got a light?” A man’s voice above me asks.
I jump at his question and my
stick clatters to the floor. He bends down and I smell his cologne. Sharp,
clean, a slight musk. Whoa. Hello.
“I think you dropped this.”
I hold out my hand, waiting.
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