Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
“I really need the children’s paperwork back!” She was distraught on the phone and tried to be calm, knowing it wouldn’t happen. “He took everything. All their records are in those files, and all the mementos I have kept.”
“What sort of things are we talking about here?”
Her attorney sounded patient and unconcerned. That was the most infuriating part of this all of a sudden. She needed at least to sound rational. “Well, some birthday cards and photos… and some things they made in school. The school reports are in there and their official certificates.”
“I see. I know it is inconvenient, but all the certificates and reports can be replaced very easily… So, it’s the cards and photos really.”
She felt the panic and frustration drain away and tears threatening to replace them. At least he couldn’t see her crying. “You know. Forget it. I am just overreacting… It’s fine. I can get new copies, like you said… We will just have to make new memories.”
Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
As long as there are dogs and as long as there are people fit to walk with them, they will remember you.*
I am not sure how I ended up with this job. I seem to remember that I had hoped to amount to more than fame for being a really good walker of dogs. But as we left the lane and the village behind us, I glanced down. The look in Sonny’s soft brown eyes was of pure love. Perhaps my life was not so bad. He trotted effortlessly on a slack leash, sniffing the air. His leathery black nose was a-quiver, and he was holding his feathered tail high, as though we were stepping into show ring instead of a muddy field. I flipped up the flap and reached into my jacket pocket. I felt the contagion of his excitement. The tennis ball was ready, and so was Sonny. I knew I was ready too. He looked up to my face briefly and I swear he smiled as his gaze dropped to rest on the bulge of my hand in my pocket, and the familiar shape of the ball.
* Watchers by Dean Koontz