On All Hallow's Eve (or, Writing From Photos)

A witch, a wizard, and a magical pumpkin

(Photo by A. Koolshooter, Pexels)

Writing from prompts is one of the oldest tricks in the fiction-writing book. Prompts are easy: here’s an idea. Think about it for a few minutes. Then write what happens next.

Sounds simple, right? All you have to do is read the words, and write something that goes along with it. The good news is, it can really help develop your creativity. The bad news is… well… you still have to do the work.

Here’s an example (stolen from Reedsy.com, which has an awesome rotating list of weekly prompts):

“Write a story about someone who is determined not to have their day spoiled - but the universe is trying their patience.”

See? It’s completely open to your interpretation. Will your story be about a cat that just can’t catch a mouse? An ice cream-eating robot whose freezer is broken? A broom-flying witch who has terrible balance, fell off into a pile of hay, lost her hat and is being judged by a pig?

The possibilities are endless!

Similarly, photo prompts are also incredibly useful. Whereas text prompts give you a specific scenario - in this case, the universe is out to get somebody - photo prompts give you a snapshot in time. The lighting, subject, and details are already painted. It’s up to you to explain why they’re there.

The photo above was found on Pexels, a royalty-free image site. They have a seemingly endless supply of everyday moments, frozen in time, waiting for someone to come and tell their stories. If pictures do speak louder than words, a hundred thousand tales can live in a single frame. Mine is only one of them.

Yours will be, too.

---

"I brought you something."

She hissed, sucking air between her teeth as she glanced up. His voice sounded scratchy now, hoarse, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. Traveling between plains took energy, and he clearly had skipped through a few of them. It made sense, since the gates were open tonight - transparent, ready for nearly anyone to walk through who knew the right kind of magic - and he had used them.

Looking. Looking for... what? For her?

"What is it?" Her own voice cracked. Just illness, she told herself. It was a lie. She'd told herself the same lie over and over again, in the hopes that eventually, she would believe it. But she never did. And now, when he was standing so close to her, after being gone for so long, she felt that her heart was ready to snap.

He stepped into the light, a beam of pale moongift that shone through the windows lining the walls. Without taking his eyes off hers, he lifted his hands and showed her what he carried.

"A pumpkin?" The words hung in the air, crystals on strings, drops of old magic in a new world. The orange sphere in his hands looked normal, like all the other pumpkins of this world, but she could feel the magic radiating from it. It was not of this world. It was like him. It was like her.

"Ours," he said softly.

Suddenly she remembered that pumpkin on their doorstep, in their home. Channeling their magic on high holy days, sitting with their son when he was first born. Watching over their doorstep, ensuring that the fae didn't sneak inside when no one was watching. Protecting the garden from rabbits and mice, guarding the back stoop from snarling cats and barking dogs.

Their pumpkin. The one from their wedding, so many years ago.

"You were looking for me." Not a question, a statement. He nodded once, and she continued to stare. Her fingers itched to touch the pumpkin, to grab it, to take it from his hands and hold it to her chest, protect it as it had failed to protect her. It had guarded their home, not her heart, and she would need its support to pull herself back together again.

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

Each word like a drop of rain, soothing her aching heart. She'd fled to this plane in furious tears, in agony after their fight. Words had been spoken, accusations had been flung, magic had cut and bled until there was nothing left standing between them. She had spent the years since then weeping, moaning, sobbing as she learned to live with these peasants, the ones who had forgotten their magic, who lived with such little hope and so much love.

It was the love that had twisted her heart. She'd yearned for him, that love of hers, but couldn't call him. Shame clouded her judgement; shame for what she'd said, shame for how she'd fled, shame that she'd chosen a life over the one she'd pledged to love until the end of time. Shame covered her like a terrible pox, and she lived like a recluse, locked inside it.

And yet...he came.

"Still?" The word escaped her lips quickly, before she could stop it. Quiet as a breath, sharp as an arrow. The only word left between her and utter bliss or complete betrayal.

His answer came just as swiftly, his eyes locked with her own. "Still."

He had not given up on her, like she feared he had. He had not left her to her own demise; he had hunted her, searching, trying to find that which he had lost. She was his forgotten item, and he was hers; he had cared for her so much better than she had for him.

He had hunted her, and after three long years, she had been found. And now, he offered her the pumpkin again. Just like he had on their wedding night, when they announced their union to the stars.

Keeping her eyes on his, she reached out. Her fingertips brushed the pumpkin, and a fire sparked in her soul. This is what coming home felt like, she realized. This is what it was like to have your heart begin beating again, and know that someone waited for you. Someone you loved. Someone like him.

The heat in her chest grew, and she flattened a palm against the pumpkin's skin. She remembered the dance they had as man and wife, and how the stars bowed to the new lovers. She remembered taking him into her bed, and loving him with the passion of the suns, and receiving his love in return. She remembered sitting with him in the early mornings, existing by each other before the day had truly begun. And deep within her, desperate and pained, she ached to do those things again.

Without waiting a moment longer, he stepped forward, enveloping her in his arms. His breath whispered in her ear, and his heart beat wildly as he held her close. This is love, she realized, as he clutched her like a teddy bear. This is love, she realized, as the pumpkin glowed with happiness, its two guardians reunited once more. This is love, she realized, as he brushed the skies with his fingertips, ready to open the gate and take her home again.

This is love, she knew. And finally, she would have peace.