Prompt to Paper: A Double Tag for Writers (3 of 3 part Collab w/ The Texas Lass)

Good day, aliens. You’ll never believe it, but Miss Texan and I have started a tag! This might wreck Miss Texan’s snurching reputation but worry not. Our snurching days are far from over.

In complete honesty, the idea of the tag and other people participating in it seemed attractive, but upon having to do it myself, the temptation to drop it was great. Sometimes, however, you have to face your fears, brave the embarrassment, and whatnot. I did that, so I don’t know why I expected anything more than what resulted.

I’m not proud of it. Not yet, at least. But that’s the point of this practice—getting out of your slump, leaving your comfort zone, and formulating terribly crafted stories. Your future self will look back and cringe but will be incredibly thankful. After all, they’d never get anywhere had you not taken a step forward first.

Enough of that. Let’s see me fail.

Tag Rules

1. Link back to the blogs of the creators, Natalie and Breanna.
2. Thank whoever nominated you or brought this tag to your attention. (Snurching is most certainly allowed.)
3. Nominate a fellow writer who may or may not be a blogger to do this with you.
4. Pick one from the following categories for your partner’s story: sci-fi, fantasy, historical, mystery, adventure, or horror—preferably one you know they’ve never dipped their foot in. Choose a prompt for your partner from the 1800 writing prompts provided by Reedsy. (Make sure the prompt aligns with the genre!) Your partner should do the same for you.
5. You have 3-4 days to finalize your story. Daunting, we know, but very much possible. It doesn’t need to be perfect and feel free to develop what you’ve begun. 
6. Share your work! The goal is 1,000 words or more. 
7. Tag as many or as few people to try this out as your heart desires.

Brace yourself, dear reader, for the atrocity that is my historical story. (Miss Texan was incredibly kind not to choose horror.) These are two of the five scenes, so I apologize if it lacks closure. Just wait for it. (Coming this Saturday, probably, May 6. Oh, right. Happy May, everyone!)

The setting is Manila, Philippines, where the sun scorching your skin is the norm. And if you’ve never eaten turon (google it), your life has no purpose. (Again! Not serious! But try turon. Deliciousness embodied.)

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Thomas took the freshly fried turons from the street vendor. He flashed her a smile, which she returned, and headed back for his mother and sister, who stood on the sidewalk. 

The sun’s rays beat down on him tirelessly. Sweat doused his shirt as he handed the banana fritters to his sister and then his mom he noticed from the dampness of their hairlines that the sun was no kinder to him than it was to them, even in the shade.

He blew on his caramelized treat before taking a crunchy bite of the outer wrap. He winced as the treat burnt his fingers and shifted it from one hand to another. It was a minor issue compared to the delicious cooked banana. The softness of the fruit combined with the crunch of the wrapper was heaven, he decided. Peak cuisine.

“So, where are we going next?” Annabelle asked their mother.

“Oooh, could we go to an arcade, Mom?” Thomas requested. “I saw us pass one on the way.”

Annabelle scrunched her nose in disgust. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Thomas. It’s revolting.”

He made sure to flaunt his half-chewed food in her face. 

“Don’t chew with your mouth open, either!” She covered her eyes. “Mom! Mom, Thomas is being disgus- Ew, don’t shove that in my face!”

“Stop it, kids,” Mother ordered. They stopped it. They had enough self-control to heed their mother’s instructions with her tone colored with exasperation like that. “Your father brought us here for a reason. Oh, look, there he is.”

Mother’s eagle eyes didn’t fail. Dad popped in, looking exhilarated and oddly childlike. “Guess where we’re going next.”

Thomas’s shoulders drooped. “Oh no.” Dad always got like that when he was excited. Not excited about just anything, though. The reason was always-

“I don’t know, where?” Annabelle answered before taking another bite of her turon.

-history.

“Intramuros!” Dad announced with gusto. “Oh, is that turon? Did you get some for me?”

“What’s Intramuros?” Thomas asked, attempting not to let the dread seep through to his voice.

“Intramuros means ‘walled city,’ and that’s exactly what it is. Oh, hot.” Dad transferred his turon to his left hand before continuing, “Inside this city are a lot of significant historical sites. It dates back to the Spanish colonization of the Philippines. I’ll tell you more once we’re inside. We should get going.”

“What’s the rush?” Mama didn’t like the idea of hurrying.

“I closed a deal with a karisela driver—a really good one. We should be meeting him by now.”

Dad grabbed Mom’s wrist with one hand, stuffed the turon in his mouth, and gripped Annabelle’s wrist with the other.

Before he could take a step, Annabelle—the smartypants—retorted, “Shouldn’t we eat first? They might not let us in with food.”

Dad made a disappointed noise resembling a five-year-old. The three munched their three-fourths-eaten turon in peace. Dad soon regained vigor and finished his snack at the same time as the rest. 

“Ready to go?” Dad asked chirpily with a twinkle in his eye.

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The water sloshed as the soldiers trudged in the beating rain. The sky was gray and the weather uninviting and Don wondered if it were by some divine joke that the day would parallel his situation so closely.

Seeing an American and Filipino soldier in their khaki uniforms with their respective sun helmets in shackles and a pair of Japanese soldiers brandishing Type 99 rifles, one could safely assume the four friends weren’t going out for a stroll. 

A few passersby sent the captives sympathetic glances; others dared not spare a look. Either way, the two’s freedom was just as ensnared as their cuffed and aching wrists, and they could not be helped.

Don nudged his companion with his shoulder. “How you doin’, Angelo?”

 Taking everything into account, Don himself knew the questions shouldn’t have left his lips. But his concern for his young friend outweighed his common sense. Besides, he’s faced more than a few angry Japs.

“Good, sir.” Angelo’s voice was hushed, but Don was pleased to hear the sparky determination still present.

“How’s your leg?” 

The splattered blood on the lower half of Angelo’s leg hadn’t been washed out by the rain, and his gait was noticeably uneven.

Angelo swallowed. “Good, sir.” 

Their Japanese guides made them go up a curb. Don followed with ease, but Angelo tripped, pulling one of the Nips by instinct. The said Nip was furious, ugly swearing in Japanese. He swung his firearm to whack the fumbling soldier, but Don shoved him back before he could strike. The Nip’s attention turned to Don; he aimed his rifle at the American’s head.

Don froze. This was it. His mind flashed to his wife and his boy and the fear of leaving them, but there was nothing to do. It was his final moment. Brows set and jaw clenched, the reckless American soldier stretched his arms out wide, accepting fate.

The second Jap yanked the arm of his companion whose finger lay on the trigger. An abrupt, indecipherable—on Don’s part—conversation was exchanged through harsh whispers. The Jap lowered his rifle, looking restrained but not subdued. 

Don couldn’t believe it. His life was spared. Why? How? He wanted to grin, but an empty gut feeling warned him of something to come.

“You didn’t have to save me, sir.”

Don disregarded his thoughts and sent his young friend an easy smile. In normal circumstances, he would’ve slung an arm around his shoulders, but this didn’t qualify as normal circumstances. “If anyone’s gonna survive this, it’ll be you, kid. I’ll make sure of it.”

Angelo walked on, eyes glued to his battered shoes.

“Hey,” Don reassured, “I don’t regret what I just did, and you shouldn’t neither. Don’t give me that sad look like I didn’t just save your life. Maybe, oh, I dunno,” Don shrugged, “a ‘thank you’ instead?”

Despite himself, Angelo chuckled. He lifted his gaze to Don, eyes shining with sincerity—or just rain. “Thank you, sir.”

“That ought to do it.”

The two friends exchanged stifled laughs. Laughs in the face of their enemies, the cursed war, and being told they’d never make it to this point.

If they were asked what one good thing out of the strife the war brought, Angelo would say being placed under Don’s rank, and Don would say having the privilege of working with such a diligent kid as Angelo. And they were happy enough with that.

They regained composure as they neared an ominous, looming wall.

“Intramuros?” Angelo couldn’t believe it. The once inviting walled city he knew turned dark and gray, abandoned and transformed into torture grounds—an image any sane person would flee from. Guess the war really did change some things.

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The prompt: “Write a story that takes place in the same building, but in two very different time periods.” (I changed the building to a city with Miss Texan’s permission.)

How did I do? 😀

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Tag, You’re It!

Deepthy @Paper Hearts (Not sure which blog you use for writing, Deepthy. Feel free to use whichever blog!)

Lily @The Introspective Introvert

Hannah @Hannah Gaudette – Author

And, of course, the reader of this post.

Thank you for reading!

Grammarly is going crazy with the corrections. How disheartening. How’d you like the story? I got stumped with the second scene, but, in the end, I liked it better. What do you think?

Keep your eyes peeled for Miss Texan’s story! (Aaaaand, of course, the story is spectacular! Find it here.)