Thief!

At the writing retreat, we were assigned to write anything we wanted to share for the first evening.  I was at a loss.  There was no prompt or direction.  It was a free for all and I had no idea on what to write.  We had a few hours to fill with dinner and writing, and planned to share with each other gathered together after our individual writing adventures.

Missy and I collected snacks and sat on the lovely back porch overlooking the lake.  It was quiet and peaceful.  The weather was perfect, as was the view.  Except for the fact that I had no idea what to get my fingers to start typing.

Missy busily worked across the table from me, curled up into herself as her poetry tumbled onto the pages of the writing journal I gave her.  I stared at my tablet, fingers resting on the keyboard with no clue where to start.  Then I remembered Pinterest.

I opened the app and searched for ‘writing prompts’ and I wasn’t disappointed.  I created a whole new board on my own Pinterest for writing prompts, but one immediately made me think of one of the fandoms I write for.  So, using a couple of the characters (from a fantasy episode of the show, so not in their normal appearance) I wrote the small piece based on the dialogue prompt I found.

I thought it was good, and actually didn’t mind the thought of sharing with these people who were still strangers to me.  Until they started reading theirs.

I heard a few beautiful pieces before my turn and with each one my heart sank.  I wasn’t near the caliber of these writers.  Even though we were warned not to compare ourselves to each other, it was impossible not to do so, especially as the lovely woman who went before me read something that was so moving and heart-breaking it made me cry.

As she finished, I looked down at my silly fantasy piece and wanted to leave.  Go down to the sweet little room I shared with Missy at the inn, bury myself under the covers, and give up any thought of writing anything else ever.  My piece wasn’t serious.  It wasn’t descriptive or beautifully written.  It wasn’t serious or moving or important.  It was fantasy fluff and I felt like a complete idiot as I read it, cheeks burning, heart pounding, and close to tears because I could feel my dreams just slipping away.

But.  They liked it.  They laughed at the appropriate places.  Gave me compliments.  I still feel silly that something so inane followed something so divine, but at least my confidence returned.

So now I present to you the very short (less than 500 word) piece I wrote from a dialogue prompt on the first evening of the writing retreat.  When I read it over now, I like it and might expand it into a longer story.  The dialogue that is the prompt is the last two lines that I italicized.

Thief!

“Thief!”

Pike froze, his ears turning toward the sound that echoed in the empty room.  His grunt of surprise was louder than he intended.  Why didn’t he hear the owner of that voice sneak up on him?  He prided himself on his highly developed sense of hearing.  His fingers gripped the small tiara in his hands tighter, pressing the smooth pads harshly into the sharp ridges of gold.

He straightened into a more upright stance, his tail curling around his left hip as if it wanted to hide from the harsh voice behind him.  He couldn’t blame his tail.  That voice was deep and loud, and Pike pictured someone tall and burly who could probably break him in two.  That would be a really bad end to this adventure, he thought.

“Thief?” Pike questioned, his voice jumping up into a higher pitched registry.

Two stomps of heavily booted feet jangled his nerves even more.  “Yes, thief,” growled out.

How to play this?  Pike wasn’t sure if the owner of the voice was the only one in the small manor or if there were guards swarming around ready to capture him.  His ability to teleport didn’t allow him long jumps, so he needed to buy some time in order to gauge the situation.  Obviously, the place wasn’t as deserted as he assumed it to be.

He went for nonchalance, spinning slowly on the ball of his right foot, holding both arms out to his side, palms up.  “How can you say I’m a thief?” he asked in his most incredulous and offended tone.

The figure in front of him did not match the voice.  He appeared human, if the ears on the sides of his head and poor hairstyle were any indication.  He was short, too, and skinny, though the heavy battle axe held loosely in only one hand hinted at great strength.  The eyes were dark and the man’s brow furrowed so deeply that Pike compared it to the great Mana Canyon in his home territory. 

“I’d say that the Lady Mackson’s tiara in your hand,” the man said, nodding his head at the article dangling from the tips of Pike’s fingers, “means you’re a thief.”

He had a good point, Pike thought as he turned his head to look at the tiara.  Both hands quickly jumped behind him, hiding the tiara and pressing it against the small of his back.  In a guilty move, his tail helpfully curled up there as well.  “I’m not a thief.  I’m just very good at acquiring things that aren’t mine!”