The prompt is pill.
Time to start the show.
“Imagine, if you will, the most perfect summer day. The blue sky with fluffy, white clouds overhead, green grass under your bare feet. Pammy, do you have a special someone?”
The girl shook her head with a slight frown.
She had to give her points for honesty. “How about a secret crush?”
The hand went back over the mouth, covering a giggle. “There’s this band. They’re not real popular yet. Poison.”
Her grandmother put her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder and gave her an indulgent smile. “Peculiar name, but they all have such great hair.”
Pammy continued. “The lead singer is named Brett. I’d like it if you’d use his name. I know it’s silly, but well…” She paused and wringed her hands as if embarrassed.
“No problem. Can do. Imagine you’re walking hand in hand with Brett. You’re deeply in love. He’s pledged his heart to you. You gaze into his clear-water blue eyes resembling still lagoon waters surrounding a tropical island.”
Lola saw the image in her mind, but instead of green grass, the warm sand shifted under her bare feet. Her hand rested in another Brett’s larger one. She wore a flowered sarong tied on one shoulder with her long auburn hair falling in rivulets down her back. A shirtless Brett strolled beside her in a pair of white pants rolled up for wading. A seagull squawked overhead sounding a bit like Pammy.
“I’m not sure what color Brett’s eyes are.”
Mercy. What happened? Instead of spinning Pammy’s fantasy, she’d taken a side trip into forbidden territory. “Um,” she cleared her throat, tamping down her wayward thoughts. “It doesn’t matter what color they are. You know. They are nice eyes…sincere ones…you could lose yourself in, especially when he teases you.”
Pammy held her hands in a prayer position, her eyes large with awe. “You know Brett Michaels?”
Well, talk about things going south in a hurry. “No, I, ah, have a good imagination.” The same imagination must be on auto drive, spinning dreams she dare not dream. After all, she came from a long line of practical women. Translation: women who fell in love with a man who left them to deal with the hardships of life alone. Never mind that the war took her great-uncle, her grandfather had succumbed to cancer, and a bull gored Cousin Willard. In the end, the men left the women of her family.
“Imagine, if you will, the most perfect summer day. The blue sky with fluffy, white clouds overhead, green grass under your bare feet. Pammy, do you have a special someone?”
The girl shook her head with a slight frown.
She had to give her points for honesty. “How about a secret crush?”
The hand went back over the mouth, covering a giggle. “There’s this band. They’re not real popular yet. Poison.”
Her grandmother put her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder and gave her an indulgent smile. “Peculiar name, but they all have such great hair.”
Pammy continued. “The lead singer is named Brett. I’d like it if you’d use his name. I know it’s silly, but well…” She paused and wringed her hands as if embarrassed.
“No problem. Can do. Imagine you’re walking hand in hand with Brett. You’re deeply in love. He’s pledged his heart to you. You gaze into his clear-water blue eyes resembling still lagoon waters surrounding a tropical island.”
Lola saw the image in her mind, but instead of green grass, the warm sand shifted under her bare feet. Her hand rested in another Brett’s larger one. She wore a flowered sarong tied on one shoulder with her long auburn hair falling in rivulets down her back. A shirtless Brett strolled beside her in a pair of white pants rolled up for wading. A seagull squawked overhead sounding a bit like Pammy.
“I’m not sure what color Brett’s eyes are.”
Mercy. What happened? Instead of spinning Pammy’s fantasy, she’d taken a side trip into forbidden territory. “Um,” she cleared her throat, tamping down her wayward thoughts. “It doesn’t matter what color they are. You know. They are nice eyes…sincere ones…you could lose yourself in, especially when he teases you.”
Pammy held her hands in a prayer position, her eyes large with awe. “You know Brett Michaels?”
Well, talk about things going south in a hurry. “No, I, ah, have a good imagination.” The same imagination must be on auto drive, spinning dreams she dare not dream. After all, she came from a long line of practical women. Translation: women who fell in love with a man who left them to deal with the hardships of life alone. Never mind that the war took her great-uncle, her grandfather had succumbed to cancer, and a bull gored Cousin Willard. In the end, the men left the women of her family.
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