Here's a little secret about me, guys. . . I keep everything. Some things kept are highly unnecessary, others are fun to come back across. Among items that are fun to look back over are writing prompts from previous creative writing classes I've taken. I'm going to share one with you. . . The prompt was simply to write about a room- there were no other points of criteria, so naturally I took it to an inappropriate level . . . I think I could potentially have a run at raunchy romance novels. . . Look out, Danielle Steel!
Here's a room I'd love to walk into:
I was meandering down the hall and saw the door barely cracked. There was a "do not disturb" sign hanging from the ornate, gold handle. Was someone in there? Were they okay?
I walked up to the door and listened- French music- slow and seductive- played from within. I tapped lightly with the knuckle of my index finger; no answer. I knocked a bit harder. . . still, no answer.
My pulse quickened- what if someone had swallowed too many white tablets from an old, orange bottle? I slowly eased the door open-
"He-hello?" I whispered.
I put my body in the room. . . I saw that the music was coming from a CD player in the corner.
There was a soft, billowing haze that hovered and permeated the room that was likely the result of the two lit cigarettes in each ash tray on either nightstand. I stepped over clothing and took a drag off the cool, menthol Marlboro.
The bed smelled of lust, of sweat. The room was swampy with humidity. The sheets of the bed were rumpled and pulled off the corners.
I stepped into the bathroom. Nothing there but a tube of red lipstick and the white, collared, dress shirt it stained.
The French music played on, the cigarettes ceaselessly burned. I stepped back out of the room, brought the door to a near close.
I touched the cheap, plastic sign. . . Do Not Disturb, indeed.
What kind of room would you meander into, if you could?