What do you mean when you say, “car”? I don’t think that I know what this … thing? … is. Is it a machine of sorts that causes accidents, or what exactly are you trying to communicate to me when you say it was a “car accident”?
“I don’t understand,” I attempt again after the third time the fireman shuffles me down the sidewalk. “It’s a car accident, miss,” the fireman states yet again. “Ugh, I know! I know!” And just then, I see a girl walking toward the flames that begin to burst out just beyond the fireman’s shoulder. “Oh my god,” I whisper in delight. “Yes, that’s right, miss. Walk that way, quickly please,” the fireman instructs.
Scared and annoyed, I huff at the fireman, “But there’s a girl over there!” The fireman looks over his shoulder, and I disappear.
Reappearing a few moments before said accident, I am perched high on the rooftop overlooking the intersection where this “car accident” will inevitably unfold. A pack of chocolate covered Donettes in one hand, hot black coffee in the other, I sit and wait for the accident involving cars. Observing while I sit and wait, I swing my legs over the edge of the building. Kicking happily, I spot an old pair of housemaids on the adjacent roof. I give them a wave and a smile. One of the two catches my gestures and waves back. And then the rumbles begin.
At first, they are low and soft, but then, as the large cement truck attempts to round the corner, another vehicle crashes into it causing a dozen-car pile up both in front of and behind the trucks. Gasping at first in horror, I am soon intrigued.
Down on the street I spot the girl approaching the flames. Dressed in some sort of white sack where only her head, hands and feet are exposed, the girl walks fearlessly toward the wreckage. Quickly, I stand and follow the girl below. A tiny piece of gravel frees itself from under my shoe, and I slip.
Falling to the street below, I yell out to the girl, “Up here!” Luckily, she turns and sees me. The next thing I know, the SNAP of spacetime opens around us leaving in our wake an explosion of no small destructive power.
Calmly, I wade through the serene pool near the far moonlit edge of the purple lake, splashing happily. In the distance floats a large glass house. The girl appears in a window, and then as she walks out of the front doors, she forms herself into a large tree at the edge where the house becomes water. Carefully, I swim to meet her.
Forming back into a familiar human form, the woman approaches me. “You cause much trouble everywhere you appear,” the woman begins. “I don’t mean to,” I admit; “I only ever wish to know it all.” “Of course this is impossible,” the woman smiles. “Reconciling this will prove useful in your survival.” I lower my head in feigned shame. Annoyed, I look up into the woman’s face, “You …” “Go dry off now; it’s time to go back,” the woman interrupts.
Again carefully, I eyeball the woman as I pull myself from the water. “I don’t want to go back,” I admit. “But that choice is not up to you.” “I’ll just stay,” I reiterate. “Very well. Let your delusions be your guide,” the woman dismisses as she searches for the right place to dive. Prepared, the Baubles announce the departure time. SNAP.
Atop the roof again, overlooking the intersection already erupted into chaos below, I hop down and walk toward the stairwell. When I enter into the light of day again, I look for the girl and spot her just as some man looks to be intimidating her in some way. Slowly, I sneak my way to be able to watch. I can’t discern exactly what it is that he’s doing to her, but she seems unphased or unaware. A bolt of something … light? … but not exactly light. Mist? I can’t know and therefore cannot explain. The girl’s down.
Fearful, the man is definitely some type of enemy. If he’s hunting Bromides, then I can’t be captured too. Carefully, the man approaches the girl and then gently lifts her off the ground and flings her onto his shoulder. Waiting until he rounds the corner, out of sight, I run and follow as closely as I can. After only a few blocks through the city, the man approaches the heavy metal door under a sign that reads, “BAR.” Once the heavy door screeches shut, I run across the street and enter.
via WRTGPRAC’s Writing Date Orange: CHARACTER