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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #933206 added April 21, 2018 at 4:32pm
Restrictions: None
Abilities
Two prompts into one story.
Prompt: A writer finds, in a used-book store, the book she/he autographed as a gift to her/his lover. Have fun.
Prompt: Whenever a certain person comes to visit, your walls turn from their color to black.
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Carol Crespo shouldered her backpack and stepped over the Bookmark Joe’s threshold. Inside, people were scouring the shelves and the tables with hungry eyes. Two people near a back table were arguing fiercely both were holding on to the same book. Near the right wall, a guy slowly raised a book to his nose and sniffed it. Weirdos! As if books were a rare commodity!
At least, Jason wasn’t that odd. In fact, her boyfriend rarely read a book. Still, Carol had gifted him a book, signed with her sincerest love, because it was the book she had written, her first, while Jason had applauded her efforts and supported her through the grueling publication process. This from a guy who sidestepped a library and harrumphed any bookstore. Carol smiled having found in her boyfriend the catch of the year.
She smiled as she ventured deeper into the store. at the sudden sight of a familiar book cover, she halted at a table. Her book! She smiled. Someone had read her book, but why discard it so soon? Only a month had passed since it was off the press.
Cautiously she held the book and lifted it. It was hers and brand new as if never been read. She opened to the beginning. Then, not believing her eyes, she leaned forward into the book.
To Jim, my love,
My thanks for helping me find my two most important loves, you and this book…
Carol
“Miss, are you all right?” Carol looked up at the tall woman with smog-gray hair standing by her. “Do you feel faint? You rocked back and forth. I thought you’d collapse.”
“Thank you, no, but I feel fine,” she said trying to regain her wits and stay in control. Yet, she felt an empty tension as if her insides were sucked out. “But I’d like to buy this book. Do you know who brought it in?” As she talked, she stepped toward the register. The woman followed.
“Yes, I probably…remember. It was only yesterday. It’s in the receipts. I wouldn’t be comfortable giving a name, but it was a young man, blond, handsome I thought. That much I can say. Why? Why did you ask that?”
“It’s brand new. That’s why,”
“Not everyone appreciates a new author, you know. I’m surprised this is sold so quickly. Only 50 cents.”
Carol put two quarters on the register.
“I could wrap it if you wish.”
“No, no, thanks,” Carol said, pulling her backpack to her side. “I’ll just stick it in here.”
Only 50 cents… Not everyone appreciates a new author… The woman’s words sank into her as she walked to her car, her face growing warmer. How embarrassing! And how cruel was Jim!
She had no idea how she could face him again. If only her grandmother was alive. She’d take care of things her way…She'd take care of Jim even though he was the best-looking man Carol had tangled with.
Once in her place, she threw the book on the living room table, disgusted as if Jim and her book had canceled each other out.
Later in the day, when Jim showed up at her door, Carol uttered a plaintive mew at first, putting her hand to her mouth in surprise. Jim didn’t look as handsome anymore, but he leaned and kissed her. She didn’t kiss him back and stuck her foot in between them. Jim leaped over her foot and went inside.
“What is with you, today, Carol? Do you feel okay? Why what did you do with this place? Why the black walls?”
Carol caught sight of her walls, then. They had all turned black. She turned her head around to see if there were signs of any magical person invading her apartment. Maybe someone from her grandmother’s coven?
She glared at Jim. “I don’t want to see you again,” she hissed. “Not after what you did with my book.” She pointed at the top of the living room table.
Jim spotted the book and he blushed, taking it in his hand, seeing the inscription, then realizing that somehow, he was found out. “Okay, Carol,” he said. “It is best we called it quits anyway. I had meant to do it for a while myself.”
As Jim left, Carol clenched her fist and waved it at him, but nothing happened. Maybe she hadn’t come into her abilities yet, the abilities her grandmother had been so sure of.
She closed the door and turned around. Her walls were sparkling white.
At least, from now on, I’ll know who is for real from the color of my walls.
She wiped her hands on her jeans while moving toward an open window to close it, but when she heard a crash, she leaned out the window, she felt her eyes grow big in their sockets. Jim’s car was wrapped around the large oak tree by the sidewalk, its shape similar to a fist.
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