Its been a while and I’m sorry for that, I went on a trip to the East Coast to see family and (as always) underestimated how the jet lag would affect me. If you follow my twitter you’ll know I was in Maryland and later in New York City. I had an amazing time in both and Monday’s blog will be all about my favorite part, a trip to Boonsboro and the smallest, most amazing, bookshop ever! I’ve got lots to tell you and pictures to show, but for now, lets read a Fiction Friday doodle!
In honor of family, this one is about a crazy uncle… who may not be as crazy as everyone thinks.
Fiction Friday 12:
Muse: 642 Things
Prompt: Think about your weirdest family member and write one short scene that depicts why he or she is such an oddball.
His hair is fuzzy and deep grey, lighter segments streak away from his face. His glasses are always on his nose, thick and basically made of crystals, the lenses magnifying his eyes and their incessant snapping open, then shut, then open. Whenever he comes to visit his pockets are always overflowing with sweets. He’d wink and pass me one when Mom wasn’t looking. His fingers and the bridge of his nose were stained with ink from where he would push his glasses up. Rarely did he speak clearly, more often he was mumbling about fantastic beasts and far off places. Mom always indulged him in his mumblings while simultaneously dismissing the ramblings. When she wasn’t looking he would pass me tiny folded notes, filled with cryptic messages akin to fortune cookies. “They will welcome you with open arms.” As a child I used to giggle and then run off to play, pretending about the far off places he’d tell me about. Then I grew up. He came around less and less, until one day he returned when I was twenty, but he wasn’t alone. And I wasn’t prepared.