;Igloo.Writing.Prompt..level2

[pretzel]

A Writers Digest writing prompt;

You awaken with amnesia in what looks to be an igloo. You have $4 and a rock in one pocket, and a toothbrush in the other. Someone is staring at you. Write this scene.

[kin]

Once again, in second person.

Sleep is a curious thing. At times, it is unnecessarily generous, and at others it snubbs people who need it most. Finicky and frivilous, it deigns to grace most, leaving a select few berefit of Sleep's embrace at night. But, come the day, Sleep abandons all in their beds, leaving them to face the day.

It abandons you abruptly, leaving your eyes sticky with gunk, and feeling as though you've spent the night in a freezer. A vague form looms over you, casting a shadow and shading your eyes. You open a mouth thick with the taste of fickle Sleep, and croak out a word- or, you think you do. The word is unfamiliar, sounding like gibberish, though the word itself drops from your lips like you've said it every day of your life.

Just as abruptly as you awoke, you realize that you know nothing about how you arrived here. Searching your memory further, you discover that you remember very little, apart from three facts.

+You are in an igloo, taking shelter from the howling winds still rattling the icy blocks.

+The slight pressure in your right pocket is your toothbrush, though you've forgotten why it's there.

+In the other pocket, accompanied by a sharper pressure and a mild prickle, are two objects: a rock, smooth, gray and from a beach; four dollars, left over from... something.

The vague shape extends a hand, and you take it. They help you up, revealing a feminine face. It is tanned and small, with dark brown eyes set almond-shaped on either side of a button nose. Her dark hair is braided down her back. She nods at you, a confirmation you can't decipher. "You're awake," the woman states, crow's feet wrinkling happily around her wise eyes. "The storm took its toll on you." A frown slashed her mouth, and her tone darkened. "I told you to stay inside. Southerners never listen..."

As she mutters to herself, you find your mouth replying in your stead, firm and unbending. "I'm not leaving until I find her." These words taste more than familiar; they taste like a mantra, repeated over the course of months, weeks, days, hours, minutes.

The old woman smiles sadly (Inuit, your mind hisses), and brushes your temple with one warm, rough hand. "First you must find yourself, little daughter."

[/size]

[auden]

It was dark. I woke up with a headache and a massive pain in both of my thighs. I was lying on a lump, a hard object. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a rock, with four one-dollar-bills wrapped around the smooth, black stone. I stared at the rock, puzzled, then reached into the other pocket of my khaki cargo pants. This time I pulled out a blue toothbrush, which looked like it had never been used. I rubbed my head trying to clear my mind, but could find no explanation for my strange possessions.

I glanced around my surroundings. The walls were green and had the outlines of squares in them, the roof was domed, the walls curved inward. It looked like the inside of an igloo or something. I looked up, still holding my head, and moaned. “Are you okay?” A small voice asked. A young girl, maybe five or so, was sitting nearby, in a jean jumper with an orange shirt underneath and brown hair in pig-tails. I stared at her, then down at my own body. I was wearing a blue shirt with a red fire truck on it and the aforementioned khaki cords. I tousled my short blonde hair and narrowed my brown eyes at her.

“Where am I?” I asked, unable to remember anything. All I knew was that my name was Harold, I was a boy, I was seven, and I had four dollars, my lucky rock, and the toothbrush I never used in my pocket.

“Kids & Action. The big igloo at the top of the playground.” The girl responded in a squeaky voice, tilting her head toward me with a questioning air about her, as if she wasn’t sure why I didn’t know where I was. Actually, now that she mentioned it, I could hear the screams of joy that came from other children, and the loud, bouncy music that the arcade played to cover up some of the squeals. I raised my eyebrows at the girl.

“And who are you?” I asked. She shrugged.

“No body.” The little girl said. With that, she turned and crawled out of one of the tunnels. I watched, feeling the throbbing in my head increase as she left. I let my hands stray to my pockets, making sure I had my possessions, and then followed the stranger down the tunnel and into the hustle and bustle of the arcade.