Even though I took yesterday’s prompt in a little different direction, I think I had more fun writing it than any other story so far. That seems in the spirit of the prompt, at least. Check out my story, about that truly magical bedtime story, The Little Prince.
Now, today’s prompt has got me pretty stumped. I’m going to have to let this one percolate for a while. Good luck, writers!
Day 6 Prompt: “Steal from yourself. Retell a story you’ve told before, in a new way. This exercise opens up opportunities in future, when you have a piece that isn’t quite working. You can cast your mind back to today and remember that yeah, there’s more one way to tell this story, too.”
[updated]
For this prompt I looked through some old notebooks, took something I wrote back in 2004, and decided to finally finish it. I re-wrote a lot of it. I guess my writing style has changed a bit in 14 years!
A Nice Pinot Grigio
She was the sort of person who wore jewelry, anything, really, for the way it felt, never for the look of it. The way a blind person would dress, Jake had always thought. Tonight, it was a smooth metal cuff hanging down over her wrist. It had no doubt slid up and down her arm as she went about her day. But now her hand rested calmly on the table, relaxed and extended slightly toward him as she studied her menu. The thin edge of the bracelet pressed against a single blue vein running over the top of her hand.
Her hand was like a dead fish in the middle of the table, motionless, pinioned by that flashing metal cuff. For some reason, Jake could not stop looking at it. He felt the barest sheen of sweat break out on his forehead.
“Should we order a bottle of wine?” She drummed her fingers against the tablecloth, once, twice, the bracelet pressing just a bit harder, then releasing, then pressing down again. The blue vein bulged slightly, in response.
“Of course, red or white?” He kept his head down, as if studying his menu, but his eyes were glued to her hand. He suddenly knew that she was doing this on purpose. He drank half of his water and forced himself to return to his menu.
What was her hand even doing there? It was ridiculous. Why didn’t she unfold her napkin, brush back her hair, anything? Something. Why display her hand and that disgusting bracelet? He would have been less revolted if she had brought out a small bag of dog shit and placed it neatly before him, between the sculpted butter and the bread basket. And she knew it.
“Oh, let’s get a nice Pinot Grigio,” she said, snapping her menu shut and shaking out her napkin with one hand, all the while never moving the hand with the bracelet. She looked up at him, eyes wide, all is that alright dear? “I was thinking of getting the salmon.”
His gaze returned again and again to the razor-thin edge of her bracelet. What would happen, he thought, if he just pressed down? A little at first, then a lot. The blue vein would rise up, as her hand stiffened and then squirmed under the pressure, her water spilling over, half-soaked rye dinner rolls ballooning up on the tablecloth.
He tore his eyes away and answered, aware that the pause had been too long, but that it didn’t matter. She knew exactly what he was thinking. “I think that would be just fine, dear.” He felt his mouth spread mechanically into a smile as his eyes met hers for the fist time since they’d sat down.
But then, some barely detectable movement caused the bracelet to wink, in the candlelight, like a lighthouse in the great white sea of tablecloth. His hand shot up involuntarily from his lap and covered hers, rubbing it, encircling it, and—crossing the line of neutrality—depositing it firmly on her side of the table.
She reclaimed it, casually, like a possession she’d misplaced and found again, folding both of her hands in her lap and smiling at him icily. And just like that, she had won. She won everything. If she could no longer make him touch her out of love, or lust, or pity even, she could still make him do it out of sheer revulsion.
And that’s when Jake knew, as he calmly ordered a bottle of wine; he would kill his wife.