P is for Prose

Copyright Rena Boudreau

It is day 18 on Rena Traxel’s AtoZ Poetry Challenge and today is P for Prose. You can if you want use Raggedy Ann as inspiration, so that I will try too. I’ve got the time it takes for Hannah to nap to try and write one so here goes:

Raggedy Ann

You tired of sitting on the shelf and slung yourself silently off one day when everyone was out and far away. You patted yourself down and pushed red woollen strands out of your fair face and got to your feet fast. The room looked very different from that angle, overwhelmingly so. You took in your surroundings and wondered about stirring your friends Jo Jo and Po from their sleep, but you decided not to surprise them so. The door was ajar and you remembered so many friends coming and going and hearing the laughter from beyond those four walls. What was out there? you wondered, rubbing your arms. It was a tad on the chilly side, but I had left a cardigan lying around and you picked it up, pulling your arms into the sleeves, enjoying the warmth and the new texture. It was time to explore, so you tried to walk. You told me later that it felt like being a puppet. I must try being a puppet too one day. So then you opened the door to darkness, but you took your mind back to the laughing and knew that if this place had heard laughter, it could not have heard scaredy cats too. You felt your way to a bannister and your foot slipped on the first step. Your wild red locks fanned out across your face as you rolled down a few steps. Your breathing became harder. By then you were beginning to feel a little bit scared, but you had to be strong. With each new step, shards of light showed themselves from downstairs. Down to where you didn’t know nor care, as long as there were people there. You waited and waited but no welcoming voices wound their way up the stairs. It was only as your foot landed in the hallway that you heard harsh voices heralding me inside from the hideout. You had never heard a voice like that upstairs and it frightened you more than the dark. You tripped and scrambled and felt for the railing but lifted your skirt and light footed your way back to the landing and on to the door still ajar and not that far from the cold shelf and you scrambled back up and sat next to the Elf, pretending to be far, far away and exhausted from play. No wonder I called you Raggedy Ann.

(Now are you sure this isn’t just a short story with very poor line breaks?)

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