[I skipped 5 because I was busy for Easter. I'm not going to lie, these prompts are getting a little sad. Spoiler alert: Tomorrow I have decide to quite and have to write my resignation to someone for something. Then the day after my tire pops and I write about breaking down. What happened to these prompts? Ever since they asked me to kill my hero they have become slightly depressing. Maybe I'm jaded. Today's prompt isn't too bad.]
You’re walking home from work one night and taking shortcuts through a labyrinth of dark city alleyways to meet someone on time. Suddenly, a stranger parts the shadows in front of you, comes close and asks you to hold out your palm. You oblige.)
“You dropped this,” the hooded figure in front of me said in a mystic tone as he placed something in my hand. I held the object up to get a better view in the dim light. It was a quill filled with ink.
“I…don’t think I dropped this. You must be mistaken.” It felt comfortable in my hand.
“You dropped it. Not recently, but it is yours.”
“So when did I drop this quill? I don’t remember having owned a quill before.”
“No, you wouldn’t remember, but you have dropped that quill many times, in many different places.” The figure stood still and I was unable to see his face, but I could tell he was waiting for me to understand.
“Alright, I’ll play along Mr. Mystery. Tell me more, I don’t get your cryptic meaning.”
“Perhaps if you were to think harder.” His voice had a hint of a smile. Is he messing with me?
“I’ve had enough of this. I have a place to be, if you will excuse me.” I started to walk away when he placed his hand on my shoulder. Visions flashed in front of my eyes, my past lives.
“You have written great, important books, stories, and philosophies with that quill. It is time for you to pick it up and write again.” After he finished speaking he took his hand from my shoulder and the visions passed. When I spun around to confront the mystic, he was gone, leaving me alone in a dark alley way. After a moment I sat down and pulled out my notebook. Apprehensively I held the quill naturally in my hand and placed its tips to paper. Flooded with ideas, I began to write.