Writer A

Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a large house in the woods next to a creek next to a suburb of Minneapolis. She had a bedroom with a fireplace in it and a jacuzzi in the bathroom and a bed with an arched canopy and silk sheets and the most lovely ethereal curtains.

Her father and mother were the king and queen of Mangodoniandrovic, but they didn’t like to live there, because it snowed ten months a year, and summer was only a week or two at the end of October or the beginning of November, when it wasn’t summer anywhere else, no where else at all, except in Mangodoniandrovic. So the royal family moved to the United States, returning to Mangodoniandrovic annually for a brief visit during its summer season, and thankfully none of the citizenry noticed—or cared—that they weren’t there the rest of the year.

In the United States there are no real castles, so the king and queen looked for a large house, and bought one which was mint green with pink gables, because houses in Mangodoniandrovic are often those exact colors, and they were delighted to find something that reminded them of home. The house happened to be in the woods next to a creek next to a suburb of Minneapolis.

When they got there they discovered that it snows in Minneapolis only slightly less than ten months a year, so the king and queen bought a second large house in California. This one was pink—without any gables—and it was in the desert next to a dry river bed next to a suburb of Los Angeles, and the king and queen spent the winters at that house.

But the princess chose to stay in the house in the woods next to the Minneapolis suburb all year. She put snow tires on her car and felt indomitable. Actually she stayed inside a lot and watched lots of Netflix. She also watched the snow through her windows and wrote poetry comparing herself to princesses of old who used to be imprisoned in towers by dragons, but in her case it was snow instead of dragons and gables instead of towers and male university students instead of knights.

The princess was only a part-time student at the University of Minnesota, because she had no ambition, but would have been bored without something to do. So she took classes in kinesiology, where she met a young man named Patrick, who was the quarterback of the football team. And the princess asked herself whether being the princess of Mangodoniandrovic was similar in rank to being the quarterback of the football team at the University of Minnesota, and whether she ought to snub Patrick or court him.

Writer B

“For the hundredth time, it has worked for us these…oh, I don’t know how many years, and I don’t see any reason to go changing things now!” George’s face was red, his brows deeply furrowed and his mouth turned into an impossibly deep frown — his customary expression whenever this topic came up.

Josephine watched him pensively, feeling ill at ease. She agreed with him that the arrangement had worked quite nicely while it was necessary, but she had begun to wonder what its purpose was, now that their situation had quite substantially improved. All she said was a careful, “George dear, I do see your point.”

“Of course you do,” interjected Georgina a bit snappishly. “That’s because you’re a reasonable person. Don’t you see”– and here she turned her blazing eyes towards Joe, who was staring wearily up at the ceiling –”this is best for all of us. Not just we four, but Elsie, and Chuck, and little Charlie. It makes things easier on them. Don’t be selfish, Joe.”

Joe, who felt he was being neither selfish nor unreasonable, continued to stare at the ceiling. He knew this irritated Georgina, but in her current mood there was little that wouldn’t. It wasn’t that he needed to gather his thoughts, for they had long since been gathered. He simply needed to restate the very obvious in a way that wouldn’t send her into hysterics, as his arguments had been wont to do of late.

As he stared upwards, he observed a spider in the arch of the ceiling above them, carefully weaving its home. Its bed. Its slaughterhouse. He shuddered.

“My dear Georgina,” he began. “George,” he continued, looking at the man to her right. “Sweet Josephine,” here he addressed the aged woman on his left, who smiled back at him. “We four have shared this bed for many a year, each quite comfortable and content in our own quarter of it. But surely, since our own darling Charlie has brought our family up in the world, it would be no imposition on anyone to increase the number of our beds to two?” He looked around beseechingly, wondering how it could even be possible that anyone should disagree with this. Josephine was nodding her acquiescence, but George looked astonished and Georgina looked irate.

“The money that Mr. Wonka so generously bequeathed our family,” blustered George, “should merely allow us to continue living as we have, except that we now have the simple luxury of not fearing what the next day may hold, and where our next bowl of porridge may come from.”

“Yes, and about that,” Joe quickly replied. “Why in heaven’s name are we still eating porridge??”

“I had hoped we might be allowed to enjoy a greater variety of foods, myself…” began Josephine, who certainly thought her husband was making more sense than either George or Georgina, whose wrinkled, sour faces she’d sat and stared at for many thousands of days. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more preposterous it seemed. What had once been a familiar comfort now seemed the most ludicrous thing she could think of.

But before she could continue, Georgina cut in. “Josephine! Are you saying you are ungrateful for the porridge Elsie prepares for us? That you would desire her to prepare any number of meals for us, and not only that, but to bring them to separate beds? What’s next, a request for separate rooms???”

Josephine glanced around her at the mansion in which they (and their single bed) now resided.

 Writer C

(The second part to one of the writing in the sand story that I didn’t finish… 🙂 )

As Jamie scribbled her last signature on the last document for the day, she jumped from her seat, eager to finally get home, into her sweats, and curled up next to her husband on the sofa – a glass of wine in hand. Most nights, she just wanted to go straight to bed, but tonight on her birthday, she wanted to consciously enjoy at least some of the day.

She looked around her desk, whispering to herself, making sure she wouldn’t leave anything behind. Unconsciously patting her blazer pockets, she felt the tiny, forgotten envelope that she’d tucked away earlier that day. She pulled it out and the familiar handwriting made the sides of her lips curl up. She opened it and pulled out a little card with water colored flowers on the front. As she opened it, she felt a calm come over her. It read: “Jamsie, meet me Sunset Cove at a quarter past six. Love, Me” Jamie glanced at her clock. It was already 6:25. She quickly sent Carl an apology text and told him to wait; she’d be there shortly.

The cove was only 15 minutes from her office, but it felt like an eternity as she drove down the freeway, and endless row of taillights all taunting her time crunch.

As she pulled off the road, just above the cove, she took a breath, smiled, and got out of her car, throwing her heels in just before the door shut. As she made her way through the little grove of Eucalyptus trees, the crunchy dirt soon turned into soft sand. Just steps ahead, some of the branches had been bent over and tied together with twine, making a little arch, and beneath that, the beginning of a path lit with tea lights in brown paper bags. Jamie giggled as she squinted up ahead.

She saw a bonfire, and Carl’s silhouette bobbing about with the movement of the flames. There was something else there too, but she couldn’t quite make it out. She ran to meet him. They embraced, she laughed, the weight of her day washed out with the sound of the tide.

She looked around to take in her surroundings. A little bistro table was set with some cheese, crackers and a bottle of wine. And there, next to the fire was a…bathtub. And actual bathtub from a bathroom in a house, and now it was on the beach. And it was filled with water – she felt it – warm water and bubbles. Next to it in the sand were written three words – three words that were the most meaningful to her; the only three words she wanted to hear that night: “Take A Bath.” She looked at Carl with a thousand questions in her eyes, but couldn’t find the words, so she laughed again.

He smiled at her with a gleam. “Happy birthday, Jamsie,” was all he said.

Her laughter paused for a moment, and she looked up at him in question.

“Wait,” she said, “I didn’t bring my suit. How am I supposed to get in this thing?”

Carl’s eyes twinkled. His eyebrows, lips and shoulders all moved up simultaneously. “You can’t take a bath in a pantsuit. “Here, drink this first,” and he handed her a glass of wine.

She took it and laughed, “This better be strong!” and began to unbutton her blazer.

Writer D

Anne stumbled up the steps of her dormitory, the arch of her foot cramping in protest from the 90 minutes she’d just run. She shook it out and bounded up the steps to her room. Her roommate, Emily, looked up at her from her perch on her lofted bed and smiled her sly smile. “How was it?” she asked. Emily hated running, and the sun, but she loved her roommate.

Dropping to the floor to stretch, Anne smiled at her sore feet and sighed, “Wonderful.” She stretched out on her back, breathing deeply, remembering the beauty of the sun dancing through the trees. It was a beauty she wanted to share with everyone she loved, but she was beginning to learn that love is much more complicated than just sharing what we like with others.

“It’s a quarter past 6, you know. The dining center closes in 15 minutes.” Emily looked down at her friend with a spirited curiosity.

“Whoa, thanks!” Anne jumped up, grabbed her dining card and headed down the hall.

This was our prompt:

Write a story or story fragment using all three of the words:

• Arch
• Bed
• Quarter

20 minute challenge