Photo by Nastya Dulhiier / Unsplash

Prose writing exercise 2

"Once per week" turned into "every 6 weeks"—so far. This story has absolutely no connection with the previous one. I'm hoping that after generating a lot of blurbs like that, maybe I'll get some recurring characters and will be able to connect them in some bigger story.

On top of using the Dangerous Writing Prompt App, I'm also using the Hemingway Editor to make my writing simpler and cooler.

The pink glove lay on the ground, almost covered with dust. Nobody has worn it for a long time.

The whole place looked like a living soul hasn't set foot inside for ages. Even though it's been only 3 months since Jessica moved out of her family home.

Now she had to come back, and unfortunately relive some of the memories. By herself this time, without others.

"Alright, let me grab those papers and get out of here."

The papers in question proved her claim to the land the house stood on. Full 16 acres of field. To be put to better use by someone with knowledge about, you know, putting fields to use. And her bank account could get filled with a bit of cash.

She looked around herself. It felt as if she left yesterday. Everything stayed in the same place as she remembered, and there was a load of dust everywhere.

"Is this amount of dust normal?" she thought for a second, before moving her feet and entering the squeaky staircase.

Step after step, her shoes left marks in the dust. Halfway through the staircase, she stopped moving for a moment. She held her breath, and focused her hearing.

Not a single sound. Nothing moving. Only dust particles, set afloat by her footsteps, glittering in the sunlight.

She started moving again. There was a good reason why she left this place, away from her family. And what happened to them later... well, she could consider herself lucky. She didn't claim to have any premonition powers or see the future—it was luck.

That's why she wanted to grab what she came here for and begone from this place. It gave her bad vibes.

To her luck, the room which served as office and documents storage was at the top of the staircase. She sneaked inside, careful not to make a loud noise or move anything.

The drawer was on the left side of the room, next to the giant, wooden desk. It looked like a fancy oak desk, but she knew that in reality it was a cheap rip-off, only made to look expensive.

She turned to the drawer, and opened it: the papers she was after were at the top of the pile.