Day 9

Day 9

Go to Google.com, and click on the "Image" link on the top left. This will take

you to the image search page. Type two words into the search box, and click on the ""Search"" button. A bunch of pictures will appear. Choose one of them to use as a writing prompt. You can repeat this exercise whenever you need fresh writing ideas!

Swan Lake

Lonely and afraid, she watched from the murky shadows of the back alley beside the theatre. The girls from the Ballet would be coming out very soon through the backstage exit, and she might be able to mingle with them as they hurried back to their dormitories. At last, the spill of light across the alley showed that the doors were opening, and she tiptoed across the alley to join the tired chattering throng of young women. They didn’t look so elegant now, as they had been on stage. Out of their costumes of feather s and tulle, carrying their little ballet shoe bags, their hair still in tight chignons, they twittered and chirruped to each other in relaxation. None of them wanted to wait any longer to go home and rest; it would be another performance tomorrow.

A couple of the girls noticed the small bedraggled waif in their midst, but kindly smiled at her, assuming she had been caught up in their midst and would spin out of their group as they reached the wider pavement.

She looked up wistfully at the tall girl who had smiled down at her “Can I learn to dance like you?” she asked . “How did you know we dance? “ questioned the ballerina. “I sneaked in one day when the guard wasn’t looking” replied the little girl, “ and I saw all of you practicing. So then I tried to stand on tiptoes like you did, but it hurt so I stopped.”

The tall dancer bent down and whispered in the child’s ear “ Yes, I know. Sometimes it hurts us too, but we carry on because we love doing what we do.”

“So, can I learn like you?” came the request again. And once more the smiling dancer leaned over and replied that of course she could. “But you’ll have to go to school and learn lots of things, then your parents will have to enroll you into ballet classes.”

The little girl shook her head sadly. “I haven’t got a mummy and daddy,” she said” I live with my aunty, and she doesn’t have any money, so I can’t go anywhere.”

The dancer walked forward to her friends, who had slowed their passage through the nighttime crowds while she was talking to the child.

She explained the situation and got their agreement to what she was proposing to do. Then she dropped back to where the child was standing. “OK, little one, here’s what we’re going to do. You take me to where you and your aunty live and we’ll talk to her about you coming to watch us again, and perhaps then you can show our manager how you like to go on tiptoes. Would you like that?”

The child nodded and took hold of the dancer’s hand.

Day 9:

The cold was beginning to seep into her, her thick wool coat offering insufficient protection. She had watched as the sun had slipped below the horizon, felt its warmth leave her.

She knew she should go inside but she couldn’t, not yet. Sat under the heavy oak tree, with no one to bother her, she felt calmness settle over her. It was something she had not felt in a while. It was...nice.

It had helped, sitting here. Finally, she could think about this, straighten it out in her head. For too long, it had been plaguing her, taking over every second. Even when she slept, it was there, reopening that wound time and time again. Everyone told her the pain would dull, that she would be able to manage it.

They were wrong.

It never let go of her.

There was no escape.

She had given up asking for help. She knew what they were thinking, saw it in their pitying smiles. They thought it was pathetic.

She knew they laughed at her pain, mocking her.

She couldn’t take it.

There was one option left to her, one last chance to numb the ache within her. It called to her, like the mother she had never had. She wanted its comfort, its embrace.

But, she was scared.

It was so final.

And yet, she knew it was all that was left. She wouldn’t miss them, not any more. They didn’t understand. A distance had settled between them, a rift no one knew how to cross.

She ran the rope through her hands, thinking. She never wanted to leave this spot, lose the tranquility she had found so recently.

She made her decision.

She chose death.

Day 8

Day 8

Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. The

heartbreaking result: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." Write a ghost story or

a love story in less than 20 words..

He waited; the bus arrived; she didn't get off.

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Day 8:

A look.

A smile.

A caress.

An embrace.

A kiss.

A ring.

A child.

A coffin.

Alone.

Day 7

Your character gets a call from someone asking to talk to "David." "You have

the wrong number," your character says. But instead of hanging up, the caller

and your character get to chatting, and they decide to meet later that night...

I’ve never done this before, so wish me luck. Tonight I’m going to meet a total stranger and take him to my bed. You may well ask why…. Well, it ‘s like this. I am ready to lose my virginity! You may well be shocked. You’re probably like my mam, who always says you should wait till you’re in love and married.

Ha! Little does she know about the world as it is now. N o education, no prospects, no money nothing to look forward to. Why should I wait to experience life? .

All my friends are boasting that they have already had sex with a man, and they’re all laughing and sniggering at my innocence so I had better get on and do it.

Will it hurt; all the books say that it might hurt if you’re a virgin. All the books say that you have got to use protection. What is the best protection?. What if he’s too big for me?. Will I like it? I don’t know.

Now I’m beginning to get cold feet. Should I or shouldn’t I? Who can I ask.

It all sounded so good this morning when I answered my mobile. Some guy with a really sexy voice asked for someone called “David”. I said, did I sound like a David, and he laughed. That was the start of it. He asked me what my real name was, and then said he’d like to call me David , anyway, since that was how we met. How we met, oh wow! This guy was flirting with me. He sounded so cool. We kept talking on the phone, and he asked me to meet him tonight at the local club. I couldn’t tell him I was too young to get into the club, now could I? He obviously thought I was older and from our conversations he must have thought I was sexy, because he kept making suggestive remarks like he’d like to touch me all over, and he could imagine how good I looked naked just from my voice. Stuff like that. . So I agreed. I felt so good; someone actually thought I was worth dating.

What do I wear?. If mam saw me going out in anything other than school uniform she’d have a hissy fit and want to know where I was going and who I was meeting. I called around to my friends and asked them what would I be wearing to go to the club. That meant I had to tell them the story of the phone call and they were all curious about the cool guy I had arranged to meet. Anyway, one or two of them offered to lend me some clothes that they thought would be sexy enough, then they said they’d do my hair and makeup, just to make me look a bit older.

We spent the afternoon, giggling and trying on short skirts, and filmy blouses, tank tops and tight fitting tees. My best friend talked me into trying her high heeled shoes , so that I would look taller and skinnier, but oh, how they hurt my feet. Still, vanity requires pain, doesn’t it? And I want to look good tonight.

The next question was , how could I get past mam later this evening. The time he gave me to meet outside the club was 9.30 tonight, when I should be doing my homework at the kitchen table………… I’ll have to ask her if she’ll let me do a sleepover with one of my friends. I will promise mam that I’ll do my homework over there, and I will promise to call her before we go to sleep, and that I will get up early enough to go to school tomorrow. Do you think that will work?

Oh, I still don’t know if I should do this………….. should I tell lies. I know what my friends will say, they’ll say go for it. You only live once, and so and so on. Not only that they had all told me what it would be like, and they had lent me all those clothes and shoes, and makeup. What will happen if I don’t go to the club tonight. He knows my phone number. He knows how to reach me. What should I do?

Who can I ask?

****************************************************************************************

A phone rang.

A woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello? David?”

“No. It’s Ali; I think you might have the wrong number.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes...No, David was meant to pick me up.”

“Pick you up?”

“From the airport.”

“Oh. Manchester?”

“Yes”
“You could get a cab?”

“No cash.”

“Have you tried calling him?”

“Yes...you answered.”

“Where do you need to get to?”

“David’s house.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Excuse me?”

She was gone. She didn’t know why she was doing this. He was a stranger, a man she had never laid eyes on.

There had been something in his voice, calling to her, asking for help, her help.

Her resolution left her when she saw the large man who was waiting under the arrival sign. He was tall and well built, menacingly so. Scraggly brown hair was tied at the nape of his neck, revealing a multitude of tattoos, some of which appeared satanic.

This man was clearly trouble.

He still hadn’t seen her. He would never know the difference if she just turned and left. It wasn’t wrong, not really. It was for her own survival. He was dangerous.

Prejudice won.

She fled.

Day 5

Day 5

Your character has a date but decides not to show up. Your character believes

he or she has a very good reason for this decision (you decide the reason). But

your character's date is furious and decides to make your character sorry…

Day 5

It had been a lovely Sunday afternoon walking back from church with the Squires family and the rest of the staff. We followed the cart on foot while the Family rode in the old wagon. The sun had been warm over the fields of corn, and steady old Blackie the carthorse had tossed his great hairy head as if to say he had enjoyed the little outing too.

I do enjoy these little outings, especially since we all work such long hours during the week. Sundays were something for us all to look forward to; a chance to catch up on the village gossip, and meet other young folk as we came out of the churchyard. The Family didn’t used to wait once the vicar had said goodbye, so we didn’t have long to talk to each other, but the other staff were kind enough to find an excuse to be a little late going through the church gate. That was the small amount of time we had to clasp hands and smile at each other.

This Sunday, though, was a little different. He had asked me to meet him after we got back to the Big House. I was not sure that this would be very sensible, as if we were caught, it would be the poorhouse for me and a whipping for him, but finally agreed that I would meet him behind the dairy, after we had skimmed the cream ready for making the butter in the morning. My heart was singing; he did like me...........he had told me so. He said he loved my blue eyes and my long hair. He said he couldn’t wait to kiss me!

On the way back to the Big house, my closest friend, the little kitchen maid, asked why I was so happy, and smiling dreamily to myself. I whispered to her what he had said , and that I had agreed to meet him later that afternoon, after milking..

She was horrified. She told me I shouldn’t meet him, it would be too dangerous, what if the Mistress should come to the dairy to make sure the milk was cooled and that I was skimming the cream properly. What if the kiss led to something more; what if he was leading me on. Everyone knew that the boys from the Farm were bad boys; the Farmer left them to run wild. I shouldn’t be such a fool, she said, you mustn’t meet him; it’s more than your position here is worth. You know the Mistress will send you and your sister away if you do anything wrong, and he is a wrong ‘un., you know he is.

All afternoon, while I was milking, my head against the warm flanks of the house cows, and while I poured the top of the milk into the big copper cooling pans in the dairy, I was thinking, Should I, Shouldn’t I?

The work went on and finally the afternoon came to a close, and the quiet and cool of the dairy became my refuge from my now uneasy thoughts.

I gently skimmed the cream from the now cool milk, and left it to rest on the cold marble slabs of the now shadowy room. Washing my hands and tidying my apron, I made my way back across the yard to the Big House.

Entering the kitchen, I spoke to my young friend. I had decided – I was not going to wait behind the dairy. If he wanted to meet me, then he would have to come to the Big House and get permission to speak to me from the Mistress and the Master. Then he could walk out with me properly, not skulk behind the barn for a quick kiss.

Having made my decision, I sat down with the kitchen staff for our usual Sunday supper of bread and ham, and a cup of good hot tea.

Suddenly there was an almighty commotion out in the yard. Everyone jumped out of their seats, and rushed to the back door. There was the house cow, bellowing , blood coming from her teat, and milk and cream running down the ground from the door to the dairy.

A hoarse shout came from the darkness beyond the dairy - he had taken his revenge for my decision.

*******

Day 5:

I looked over the email once more, my heart in my throat. I knew what I was doing was dangerous. My rejection would make him angry, make the demon rise within him. He was a different man then, a tainted man. Gone was the sweet smiles and kind words that had captured my heart all those months ago; that was the man I loved. Not the monster he had proven to be.

It took so much effort to hit send, my hand feeling as if it is was moving through cement. Slowly, shakily, I raised glass to my lips, emersing myself in the sharp burn that spread down my throat. Even that didn’t settle me tonight.

I couldn’t help but think of him discovering the email, imagining the red that spread across his cheeks, the viscious glint in his eyes as he scrambled for his keys. He would storm through the streets, shouting at passerbys until he reached the entrance to my apartment block. I could hear him pounding at the door even now, threatening to kick it down if I didn’t open it. It was a scene I wasn’t keen to replay.

I wasn’t safe here. Not by myself. The walls I had so painstakingly decorated wouldn’t keep me safe from him, from my mistakes. I knew that when the morning came, with the sun seeping through the curtains onto his sleeping form, I would forgive him.

I always did.

A part of me longed to save him, protect him from whatever it was that seized him, held him captive.

It was impossible and yet, I still tried, time and time again.

The streets were empty as I scurried through. My body was encased in ice, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. This was eternal. It was something a jacket or hot fire couldn’t fix. Nothing could.

It was with half remembered steps that I made my way through the park I had played in as a child. I smiled, a bitter, wistful smile, as I recalled the innocence with which I had dreamt. Dreamt of my Prince Charming, my hero. How well that had turned out.

My hand paused on the ornate knocker that hung from the large oak door that marked the entrance to my parents house. Coming here felt like defeat, like I had failed. I wasn’t even sure why I had come here. I could have turned to any number of friends, who would have been more than willing to offer me their sofa for the night . There were hotels in the area. Why did I come here?

Before I could turn and run as I had all those years ago, however, the decision was taken out of my hands. The door opened to reveal my mother, who’s face was wide in shock at the sigth of me. It had been too long since we had seen each other. Something in my eyes must have given me away cause she smiled at me. It was a shy smile, but a smile none the less.

Something about this pushed me over the ages and I folded myself into her arms as I had all those times before. She rubbed small circles on my back as I sobbed into her shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed. It felt natural. It was as if I was that little girl again, not yet ready to face the world unsupported.

As I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, which was still the same sickly shade of pink I had chosen all those years ago, I realised why I had chosen that particular oak door to reopen. My family was a long way from being whole again but we were exactly that: a family. It may not hold the glamour I had searched for when I had left without a backward glance but they offered me something I cherished much more. They gave me security; the chance to make mistakes and have them forgiven, an unconditional love I had failed to find elsewhere.

For the first night in weeks, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realised the consequences of my actions. All I had done was say no, but he hadn’t been able to handle it. He never could. As the newsreader told the grim story of the young woman choked to death mere streets from my apartment, the ice returned. I knew it was him. I don’t know how, but I did. I could see it when I closed my eyes. His gleeful smile as the life drained from her was forever etched in my brain.

It was his final revenge.

His final legacy.

My eternal guilt.

Day 4

Day 4

Think of two very different people you know. Invent a character who combines

characteristics of both of them. Then put this character in a stressful family

situation...

Day 4

With all respect to Jody, he behaved like an idiot when his mum started dating again. . Instead of being happy for his mum, after her years of being a single parent, he started to whine and moan each time she went out in the evening. He didn’t seem to realize that she was an adult and could make up her own mind about who she should see or not, he decided that he would control her actions and decide on who she could or could not go out with.

Although his mum was a strong character, since she had been alone for many years – in fact shortly after Jody was born, her then husband had run away with a bottle blonde from down the street, Jody had grown up with a huge chip on his shoulder about men in general and his so-called father in particular. According to Jody a father was someone who stuck around and helped bring up children.

His mother had shown no bitterness against her husband, merely indicating that life had a habit of changing a person’s direction, and that she had Jody to care for, so hadn’t really been alone after all.

Still Jody saw that as a weakness, not a strength, which made him all the more determined to make sure that his mother did not get involved with any other man who was going to leave her in the lurch.

His bitterness and controlling attitude spilled over at his job too; the girls who worked in the same office were constantly being told they shouldn’t go out on dates “ men only wanted one thing, and then they’d leave you with a baby” sort of thing.

His attitude was also that he was going to run this company some day, so everyone had better learn who was the boss- in- waiting, so to speak.

Although everyone knew Jody felt like that, it became worse when his mum started to take advantage of her freedom. And that’s when he started behaving like an idiot. We all knew of his attitude problems, but there were times when he could lose the state of mind and relax , and at those time he could go out for a drink with us, and be relatively good fun.

Not this time; obviously his mum was being courted by a guy who meant something serious to her, and Jody simply couldn’t cope with it. He was so angry inside that it was eating him up; we could see it happening, but nothing any of us said to him, made any difference. He was in a fighting mood all the time, and if he couldn’t control the situation; he was certainly not able to control himself. We watched and waited, knowing that at some time his bitterness and anger was going to spill over, but none of us was ready when it did finally happen.

And none of really knew just how bad it had become till his mum rang up in a terrible state. Jody had gone missing, and she wondered if any of us knew where he might be. She finally called the police in, when he had been missing for 48 hours. They were reluctant to intervene, quoting the fact that he was a grown man, and could have just gone off the rails or found a place to live. We knew that he wouldn’t have just disappeared like that; his mum was too important to him to walk away from; that would have made him the same type as his father. He would have wanted to be where he could control her , he wouldn’t have just left her without telling her where he was going.

Even so, it was still a huge shock to us all, when the police called to say he had been found; he had remained in control after all. They found him in the woods……………… he had controlled his own life – and his death.

************************************

Day 4:

“You did what?!”

Andie winced at her mother’s shrill voice, one she had come to recognize as trouble. A small part of her was relieved she had escaped her mother’s fabled wrath and sharp tongue; she had experienced it many a time before and knew just how damaging it could be. The rest of her was concerned for her younger sister, Mia, who was currently bearing her the full force of their mother’s anger, her arms crossed against her chest defensively.

It had been just the three of them for many years now, their father having left before Mia was born. Although the small, tight knit family got along well, the sisters knew what their mother’s temper was like, having to suffer many a burnt dinner and sharp tug of the hairbrush because of it. They had always banded together in the face of it and Andie didn’t see any reason to change that now.

“I turned down my place at Stanford.” Mia repeated, staring her mother straight in the face.

Andie watched with morbid curiosity as her mother’s face darkened to crimson. She too thought her sister foolish to turn down this opportunity and had told her very loudly and pointedly the mistake she had made when she had been told a week before but now, without anger clouding her judgment, she was starting to feel that maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all. When Mia had told her how she planned to volunteer at an orphanage in Africa for a year, Andie had felt a strange sense of pride settle over her.

She had always known her sister was meant for something more than books and degrees. There was an innate goodness in Mia. Even as a child she had forgone homework in order to nurse an injured bird. It was something she had never quite understood. She had simply humored it, humored her baby sister.

Andie stood from her seat at the table and headed to stand beside her sister. She wouldn’t let her handle this alone.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think mum,” she began, trying to placate her mother, “I mean she’ll be out there helping people, making a difference –“

“For once in your life, stay out of this one Andrea. You’ve made your mistakes. Now let me stop your sister from following in your footsteps. “

Out of the corner of her eye, Andie saw her sister tense but ignored it, seething.

How dare her mother bring that up? How dare she?!

“Well I guess it’s hereditary then.” She snapped. She heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath, heard her sister calling her name but she was gone.

She headed to her local library, seeking solace in her studies like she always did. Andie was the brains of the family, much to her mother’s delight, and had a sure place at a law firm if she wanted it, which she was planning to take as soon as she could. It would get her out of this dead beat town and the house she had long found suffocating. It was her ticket to success, her dream for as long she could remember.

It was strange then that suddenly she could no longer see the importance in her plans, her future. The hope of success was bittersweet and Andie couldn’t help but feel she had been outwitted, out maneuvered by her baby sister, the kid who never went to college.

Day 3

Day 3

Imagine you're looking through a collection of short stories. One of the titles

catches your interest. That's the story you want to read first. What might the

title be? Invent a title that would make you want to read the story. Now, write a

story to go with that title..

Day 3: "And the rain came down"

“Why does the rain have to come on my day off school?” whined my little brother. “And why does it come down, not go up?”

“Oh , for goodness sake”, I snapped, “Everyone knows that rain falls… where would it go if it went up?”

Suddenly my thoughts took an entirely different view of rain. What would happen if rain went up , not came down. Where would it go? How would the Earth survive? Are we living an illusion when we think we see rain falling. Are we on the wrong side of it and what we think is coming down, is actually going up?

My little brother was forgotten as I sat by the window , thinking these deep thoughts, and watching those diamond bright raindrops sliding slowly down the panes. Was it gravity that made them move , was it me assuming that I saw them sliding downwards. Was my brain seeing one thing and telling me another.

I was interrupted in my reverie by the whining boy again. “ Katy ,when can we go outside to play?”he asked.

“Tell you what, Bri,” ( his name was really Brian, and he hated being called Bri,) “ we’ll go out now, shall we?”

“Get your little raincoat and wellington boots on, and we’ll go and dance in the rain.”

He ran off with a loud whoop of joy, and I slowly stretched my way out of the window seat and went to find my jacket . Rushing back with his coat half buttoned and his boots on the wrong feet, little Brian met me in the hall. We opened the front door and stepped out into the world of blustery wind and heavy raindrops.

Brian stood there on our front path with his mouth open and his hair plastered to his head. “Look, I’m catching the raindrops,” he said. “You be careful,” I answered” the rain might melt you away”

He shook his head at me, laughing at my stupidity, and that’s the last I can remember seeing of him. A little blonde haired boy in bright yellow wellington boots, and a big blue raincoat, slowly melting into a puddle on our front path.

************************************************************************************

Day 3: “And that’s when she shot me”.

I groaned inwardly at the mound of paperwork my boss was insisting had to be done tonight. It was impossible and he knew it. The only way I could get through this many accounts is if I stayed late and missed my in law’s anniversary dinner, which my wife would not appreciate. I would be in trouble for weeks. I knew there was nothing I could do about it; I was on thin ice with my boss at the moment. For some reason, we didn’t get on particularly well which meant that more often than not I was the one who had to deal with the jobs everybody else avoided.

As I had predicted, it took me hours to work through it. When I had finished, the office was dark. Everybody else would be home by now, beer in hand. They probably wouldn’t have to deal with an angry wife either. They didn’t realize how lucky they were.

Frankly I wished I was at home right now instead of stuck behind the wheel. Even though I knew there would be arguments about the many late nights I had been working recently, I wanted nothing more to change out of my shirt and tie and watch late night tv. I always felt like a different person in the office. As soon as I stepped through the doors, I felt the smile shrink from my face.

When I was younger, I had promised myself I would never turn into an office drone. I had planned on being a chef, turning my passion for food into something tangible. At least, I had until we needed a mortgage. All too soon, I had to grow up. I had to get a ‘real’ job, be responsible. I had told myself it was only temporary, something to line my pockets while I trained. That was seven long years ago.

A red light flickered on my dashboard, drawing my attention. I cursed when I saw that the petrol tank was empty and pulled in to the layby. I dug through the pockets of my trousers looking for my mobile only to realize that it wasn’t there. I had left it on my desk. Muttering under my breath, I started the two mile walk along the weatherworn roads the town council refused to fix. By the time I saw the small three bedroomed terraced house I called home, my shoes were coated in a thick layer of dust and grime. I had taken the tie from my neck awhile ago, preferring to feel the small gusts of wind on my skin. Despite the darkening sky, the walk had brought a smile to face; in a town as small as this, it was easy to submerge yourself in the nature all around and simply forget. To forget about work and the boss who hated me. To forget about the angry wife who was asleep alone. It was strangely blissful.

Perhaps this is why I didn’t announce my arrival when I slipped through the front door. The house was silent, asleep at this late hour. I didn’t want to disturb the peace the quiet brought.

Kicking my shoes from my weary feet, I headed to the small kitchen towards the back. I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me as I rooted through the fridge, searching for the cold, refreshing beer I had long been craving. The first thing I heard was the click of a trigger, the first thing I felt was the searing pain in my leg. I shouted in surprise, words I wouldn’t care to repeat. I looked down at the blood seeping from my calf in shock.

Turning, I found myself face to face with my wife, a look of horror on her face and the small handgun I had inherited from my father clutched in her shaky hands.

“Gary, I’m so sorry! I thought… I thought you were a murderer… or a thi- “

“So you shot me?!” I knew I was incoherent now, the pain causing a fog to settle on my brain. As if from a distance, I could hear my wife’s distraught apologies but I paid no attention. There was but one thought, one ridiculous, unimportant thought in my head. If I had been thinking clearly I would have laughed.

Maybe this will stop the boss from making me work late.

Day 2

Day 2

Write a story that includes: a tombstone, a first kiss, and a butterfly collection…

Day 2

Sitting on the closely cropped grass, next to her mother’s tombstone, Lucy was sobbing silently at the sudden loss . She still had not come to terms with the fact that she was not there when her mother died.

Her father was too devastated by his own grief to pay much attention to the fact that Lucy was suffering from the sadness and guilt she had felt at her mother’s funeral ceremony. Even today they had barely spoken to one another, each being so immersed in their own loneliness

It was the butterfly collection that had taken her so far away from home. Finding it in the attic and asking questions about the collection, had led her to go far away for the year. She had spent time searching for the original family who had lived in the house before Lucy’s parents had moved there 10 years ago, looking for the young boy who had so obviously had collected butterflies as a hobby. His name had been tucked inside the glass casing of the collection.

Last year Lucy had gone to the fount of all knowledge, the Internet, and researched the boys name and location . She wrote to him and introduced herself, telling him the story of how she had found his butterfly collection and his name. Over the months they began a long distance correspondence and eventually Lucy agreed to meet him and his family. She packed her suitcase, flew across country and was greeted warmly by the family who had previously lived in her parent’s house.

The young man with whom she had built the relationship was especially pleased to see her, and excitedly took her by the hand to show her all that he had done since she had first written. Lucy was shocked; this surely could not be the same person who had collected and cased those beautiful butterflies all those years ago. This young man was obviously a damaged individual; his speech was slow, his excitement just a little too frantic. His parents watched as Lucy looked bewildered as he grabbed her hand and dragged her away to his “best friend”. The young man’s best friend was in fact his older brother and had been an onlooker to this moment, but now he stepped forward and gently introduced himself. He explained that he had been the one who had been answering the letters, who had helped her to join him and his family for a visit; it had been him who she had gradually come to know so well. He explained that his younger brother had been collecting butterflies when he had fallen and struck his head on an outstanding rock. Brain damage had caused the young one to change, and so when Lucy’s first letter had arrived, he had written back to her. It had been his letter s and e-mails that Lucy had been responding to. The love he bore for his younger brother was patently obvious, and Lucy , who had already been drawn to his personality by his letters, now felt even more strongly, that this was a man of whom her parents would approve. The “butterfly boy” as Lucy now called him, was so fond of Lucy that his family asked her to stay on with them, so with her parent’s agreement , Lucy remained with the family for a long time. She got a part time job in their town, and was able to give companionship and compassion to the badly damaged young man, for this was what he was. The relationship between Lucy and the older brother had time to blossom while she was staying with the family, and it was a shock when her father had telephoned and told her to come home immediately.

Rushing to the airport Lucy was distraught with worry, and saddened when her first real kiss, was the one that she and butterfly boys brother exchanged as they said goodbye to each other.