This week’s writing prompt has developed more than expected. The idea didn’t exactly stay with me as such since writing it, but now that I typed it up for this post I couldn’t help myself. There was so much that could be done with this prompt, so many directions I could have taken it into, and I had no idea it would develop quite this much in my head when I first wrote the draft. The ideas I have for it now go past what’s written below. I may have to take notes…

I’m not sure yet if I’ll experiment further with it, but I’ll certainly keep it around. Just in case πŸ™‚

As always, if the prompt speaks to you, too, feel free to use it and put your own spin to it πŸ™‚ If you do, please link back here so I can have a read!

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Who people think you are, compared to who you know you are

Meeting the people I had once considered my friends was stressful and draining. I still thought of them as friends, too, wrong as that was. Once they knew the truth about me everything would change. Hanging on to something I couldn’t have wouldn’t help matters.

Luke, Sian, Delly and I had grown up together. Sian and I had sat next to each other in school for five years, and Delly and I had always planned on a double wedding.

All of us had enrolled together, at Royal Blood Academy. All of us had decided together to kill the gifted.

There was nothing I wanted more than that ceremony, or to gossip like nothing had changed but none of them could ever be. They’d try to kill me. They’d have to, our training had drilled it into us for the past three years.

“Sue! Are you even listening to me?” Delly waved her hand in front of my face, her bright blue eyes sparkling mischievously at me.

“Huh? Sorry, just a lot on my mind.” They didn’t know the half of it. How did people cope with something like this? With a plot twist to their lives like this one?

Did this even happen to other people?

“I asked if you wanted to come to London with me this Saturday. These two losers already made plans.” I couldn’t help but smile, knowing I wasn’t the last resort she made me out to be. I was always her first her choice. Always had been, never would be again.

“Sure, I’m in.” Just one more weekend. I couldn’t have the ceremony, but I could have one more day of gossip. Once I told them I had the gift flowing through me they’d try to kill me. I wanted one last shot at pretend normality before that.

One last memory for the scrapbook, before I disappeared and hid.

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All writing belongs to the author, Sarina Langer

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