Here you will find one-shots & drabbles (100-word pieces) based on twenty-five pre-determined one-word prompts. Please note that these are meant to be standalone pieces rather than chapters in a story. The deadline for all 25 pieces is April 1st.
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The Twilight Twenty-Five
Pen name: poppyandpeony
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: I recommend using the 1/2 view for this one.
A Story in Postcards and Paper
Postcard: Greetings from The Space Needle!
By the time you get this, I'll be somewhere in the Midwest, but I just wanted to say thank you…for everything. I know you wanted me to go to UW, wanted me to stay a little closer to home, but I need to see what's out there for me. And I'm scared as hell, but I can't let that stop me. Not anymore. I could have driven myself, too, but I know you were just trying to keep me safe. And you're right. Dr. Cullen's son seems like a nice enough guy—a little uptight, but nice (then again, what else can you expect from a Princeton boy?).
I love you, Charlie.
I love you, Dad.
P.S. Edward told me to tell you the gas money you gave him is inside your coat pocket.
Somewhere in Montana
This is stupid.
Trying to write in a moving car is stupid. And trying to keep a diary for fourteenth time is probably stupid, too.
Fucking Artist's Way.
I don't know why this is always so difficult for me. Maybe because I feel like I'm talking to myself, or I won't have anything to say, or I'll go super-crazy and start acting like this is another person.
Or maybe I'm just worried that, years from now, when I read these words again I will find that my thoughts were, in fact, as ridiculous and naive as I always feared them to be.
But if I can't do this, if I can't have some profound musings during what is such a monolithic milestone in my life. If I can't say something about moving two thousand miles away while greens and browns fly by me and give way to something, anything, else, then how can I ever hope to call myself a writer?
Or maybe I've just read On the Road too many times.
Somewhere (Still) in Montana
8/26/09: Attempt #2
Dear Diary (Puke)
There is a boy next to me. He's pretty and makes me feel uneasy. Apparently, we went to school together when he was a senior and I was a sophomore, but I think I would have remembered him. Or at least I would have if I had spent any time outside of the school library.
When I said I was going to Vassar he gave me this strange look—like he was surprised or—I don't know—impressed?
I kind of liked it.
His name is Edward, and I like that, too. I don't know him well—at all really—except for this:
1. His car is a lot nicer than my truck
2. He refuses to let me touch the ipod
3. We're going in the same direction
Actually, I'm not too sure about number three.
Miles City, MT
I thought it only fitting that my first letter written on the stationary you gave me be for you. Especially given the fact that said stationary has pictures of naked chicks all over it. I'm still trying to figure out where in Forks you managed to procure porn-tionary. Maybe Newton's?
I miss you.
I know I only left yesterday and I thought it would be at least three days before I started really missing you, but here I am wondering what you did today. Which is ridiculous because I know exactly what you did.
You woke up and smoked two Parliament Lights before going to the diner to sit in the second booth from the left and flirt with Gladys for extra whipped cream on your pancakes.
But what did you do when I didn't meet you there, my dear friend? Did you build your own castle out of coffee creamers and knock it down yourself? Did you play Patsy Cline on the jukebox instead of Johnny Cash?
I like to think you got on your bike and headed South, and somewhere near Vegas you met a fairy princess who calls you "handsome" and gets you to quit smoking. You let her put her arms around your stomach and you eventually trade in that rickety old motorcycle for a VW bus because you worry about her safety. And I don't hear from you for months until I get a soggy letter in the mail postmarked from Memphis.
I hope that you did.
Promise me that you will.
P.S. I got you a present, but I can't send it until I get to New York so I'll just tell you what it is. It's a t-shirt that says "Montana is for Butte-holes." It was purchased at a gas station. I am not joking.
Dear Something (Should I Name You? Oh God. You are not a person. I am not Anne Frank.),
He's snoring right now and I find it adorable.
This confuses me.
The woman at the registration desk was doing this weird thing with her eye when she was talking to Edward. I think she thought she was winking, but it kind of looked like she had something stuck in there.
Then she called us Mr. and Mrs. Cullen, and I think I died a little bit. And then during my pre-menopausal hot flash, he saw me blushing and then he started blushing too.
He was probably thinking of his insanely beautiful girlfriend back home: a Princeton girl who wears equestrian boots and tights in the winter with a wool pea coat and a cashmere scarf.
His future wife.
He's hugging his pillow right now. Dreaming of her, I'm sure.
Napkin from Kroll's Diner
Be it known that Edward Cullen lost the spoon-on-the-nose contest and will therefore allow Bella Swan complete control of the iPod for two consecutive hours without groaning, sighing or rolling his eyes—even if she plays Liz Phair (which she most assuredly will).
Signed: Edward Cullen, 8-28-09 (Are you sure you're not pre-law, Bella?)
St. Cloud, MN
Please forgive me for I have sinned.
I have defiled this city with a dirty sex fantasy.
I couldn't help it. I don't even know what happened (I don't think I've ever had a proper sex fantasy before). But his hands were clutching the steering wheel in this really firm but gentle way and every so often he'd run his fingers through his mess of hair and then I'd imagine I was doing it instead and then (oh my god) he knew all the words to Fuck and Run and he was singing them and the way he said the word fuck, the way his lips surrounded the word fuck, I began to feel hot and strange and it was almost like that time Jasper showed me lesbian porn but different and better and I made him pull over into a rest stop before I came just from rubbing my legs together.
That's why I'm writing this while sitting on a toilet.
I can't go back out there.
Please give me the strength to go back out there.
Sorry for never really going to church or anything.
P.S. I also apologize for the obscenity of my language—and of this stationary.
Placemat from Culver's
Things Edward has said that make me feel tingly:
"Ever since Europe, I need mayonnaise with my French fries. Are you disgusted?"
"My mom always smells like sugar cookies, and she never bakes anything."
"Belle and Sebastian is for wimpy old hipsters. Let's listen to Tigermilk."
"I took a Women's Studies class for a girl. We broke up before the midterm, but I got an A in the class. It was fascinating. I felt like an asshole, but it was fascinating."
"George was always my favorite."
"Natalie Portman is so hot I want to punch myself in the face."
"The first time I saw a cadaver, I wanted to throw up."
"My last girlfriend was…boring."
"Sometimes I just want someone to read to me."
"I remember you, I think. You were always going to the library when I was walking out of Calculus."
Cosmopolitan Magazine: August 2009 Edition
Note to self: This is the stupidest thing you have ever done. Ever.
Are You In Love?
Could you be falling in love? You have told yourself that it is just a crush. After all, you are just really good friends, right? Though a relationship with him would be nice and he is the right kind of guy... No, you're being silly; he is completely wrong for you - isn't he? Figuring out if it is love is never easy. Instead of questioning yourself, take this quiz and find out if what you feel is real.
1. While shopping, you spot a pretty outfit. It isn't your usual jeans and camisole, but you buy the outfit anyway.
False (What the fuck is a camisole?)
2. Your heart pounds a little faster when you get new mail from him - and you haven't even opened the mail yet.
True (I did keep that note he left me about going out to grab coffee. He drew a happy face with googly eyes and a tongue)
3. You can't help but feel good when he's around, and just the thought of seeing him again makes you happy.
4. When you doodle on a piece of paper, you find yourself writing his initials. Then you add yours.
True (Oh my God.)
5. You calculate the number of childbearing years you have left and try to imagine if he would be a good father.
False (Oh. My. God.)
6. You bring up the subject of a boyfriend and dating with your kids or your best friend to get their opinion.
False (WWJD=What Would Jasper Do?)
7. People are starting to ask you if you are a couple because you are always together.
True (like the sketchy eye lady at the hotel desk?)
8. You buy a little present to say "thanks" and leave it on his desk or somewhere he will notice.
True (This morning, I gave him the really good doughnut and kept the cake one for myself even though it was dry and had no icing—could that be considered a gift?)
9. He forgot a t-shirt at your place, and you keep putting off giving it back.
True (as evidenced by the Princeton, New Jersey shirt currently balled up and tell-tale hearting in the corner of my suitcase)
Number True: 6
Number False: 3
On back of Vassar acceptance letter
If Jasper were here, he would tell me to:
1. Brush my hair and put on that one shirt that makes my boobs look good
2. Play Merle and dance
3. Do a shot from the bottle without plugging my nose
4. Stop being a pussy and tell him already
5. Get the fuck out of Cleveland as soon as possible
You're probably wondering why this letter has pictures of naked women on it. More that that, however, you're probably wondering why you're reading a letter from me postmarked in Scranton when you more than likely dropped me off at my dorm room in Poughkeepsie yesterday or the day before. I'm just better at writing things than saying them, and I'm better at writing with a pen than a keyboard. Hence, the pornographic stationary and what I am about to say.
I think I might be in love with you.
I know. It's weird. Because I've only known you for a few days if you don't count the days we supposedly went to school together.
I think it's true, though.
And that's why I was quiet for the rest of the drive and why I seemed "nervous" as you so astutely put it, and why I was sitting on my hands until they fell asleep.
I was trying very hard to control myself and this whole being in love business, and you make it very difficult for me to do that. So I'm sorry if I was being strange, but that's how I feel: strange and different and sort of new.
I expect nothing from you, by the way. I've seen a few romantic comedies and I know how the final scene is supposed to play out if any of this weren't real. You would show up at my doorstep in the rain holding flowers and you would drop them and we would kiss. But it's August, so there won't be any rain and there certainly don't need to be any sweeping romantic movie gestures.
I've just never been in love before and it feels really good and really terrifying and very different from anything else I've ever felt and I think that if I don't write it down, it won't be as real. And I guess I hope that someday someone feels this good about me. And if they do, I hope that they would tell me.
So that's why I'm doing this.
You know, treat others the way you want to be treated and all that.
So…thank you? I think that's the correct closing for this situation.
Or, you know, take care.
Talk to you soon (not that you should feel in any way obligated to talk to me or anything. I mean you can if you want to, of course. Just don't feel like you have to talk to me because I'm in love with you).
Inside a paper airplane landing next to Bella Swan's feet
I used to wait one minute and thirty seconds after the bell rang. I asked Mr. Banner questions I already knew the answer to. He thought I was an exceptionally dedicated Calculus student.
Really, I was just stalling to make sure I would walk out the door at the same time this strange, beautiful girl went into the library. She always had her head down, and it was everything in me not to brush her hair out of her face.
She was so determined to stay hidden, though. As though she had nothing important to say.
Silly, strange, beautiful girl.
Now look up so I can kiss you.