Set your timer for 10 minutes. Pick a mundane or normally occurring event (I chose a rugby social). Now throw in a splash of fantasy or magic. Have fun, play, see what happens? How does it affect everyday life?
Here’s my attempt:
Bubbles frothed together, beneath which creamy amber colored pale ale churned. Eliza studied the turbulent liquid before nodding in thanks to the brute running the keg. Jack smiled, winked and returned to the task of filling cups with the precious brew.
Raucous laughter broke, breaking up the night. Inside, the chant of a rugby song echoed.
“If I were the marrying kind
Which thank the lord I’m not, sir
the kind of rugger I would wed
would be a rugby …..”
“Prop,” a deep voice called.
The group chanted, “Why, sir?”
“’Cause I’d support a hooker
and you’d support a hooker
we’d all support a hooker together
we’d be alright in the middle of the night
supporting hookers together” The voice chanted back.
A grin stretched across her cheeks as she made her way into the tiny kitchen where the men had gathered in a circle, singing the song together. She didn’t need anything else, so long as she had these beautiful, fucked up people in her life. If rugby had an epic mantra, it would be: Bring me your weird, your outcasts, your different ones. It was damned lucky she’d stumbled upon the sport in high school. This was her family. In a world where she just couldn’t seem to fit in, it was nice to know that there were others like her out there.
The pull started subtly, barely noticeable so that she was moving toward it before she even realized what was happening. It always started that way—a tickle up the spin that was nearly undetectable. Her feet would move of their own accord as if retracing some well-practiced routine, forging a path to something unseen, but felt.
As she walked down the narrow hallway, the feeling grew in power, filling her with a desire to find whatever beckoned her. Sometimes the pull was greater than at other times. Now urgency permeated her. The world faded away, leaving only her and a looming red door. Eliza barreled through, nearly shaking with the need to discover what had drawn her so forcefully from the revelry.
Two sets of eyes snapped to her intrusion, vivid emotion playing through each pair and contrasting with the other. Dove gray eyes beseeched her and lashes heavy with tears fluttered while cold blue orbs bored into her, demanding her retreat. Eliza didn’t recognize the girl laying on the bed, held down by a large hand, but she recognized the boor striking terror into those dove colored eyes. The man was a scrum-half for the team who had traveled here to play the local men’s team.
Instinctively, Eliza charged, lowering her shoulder and driving into the man, pushing him backward and coming down hard on him as he fell. He rolled, throwing her off him before struggling to his knees.
“Stupid bitch,” He spat, reaching for her, “Someone ought to teach you to mind your own damn business.”
Scrambling backward, Eliza tried to keep him from grabbing her, but he managed to catch her blouse. With a hard jerk, he tore open the front of her shirt as he tried to pull her to him. The cruel curve of his lips sent a shiver racing through her. Eliza rolled onto her knees and tried to clamber to her feet. A large arm snaked around her, yanking her backward as the man’s other hand found her breast, kneading roughly. She threw her elbow as hard as she could and was rewarded with a grunt and muttered cursing.
“Get the fuck off of her,” a deep voice boomed. Evan Duran, the team’s Hooker, stood in the doorway, lightning shooting from his eyes.
The tight grip around her waist loosened and Eliza was able to struggle away as the man squared off with Evan. Several people stood in the doorway, crowding to see what had caused the uproar. Eliza squeezed through the crowd, leaving the cad to his fate. A part of her hoped they beat the shit out of the man. Gentle hands found Eliza’s, leading her away from the room.
“What the hell were you thinking?” a soft voice implored, and Eliza looked up to meet those angry caramel eyes.
“Thinking? When have you ever known me to do such a thing?”
“One of your feelings again?” Kristie asked in a hushed tone.
Eliza nodded as she inspected the damage done to her blouse. “Damn, this was one of my favorite shirts.”
Kristie scrutinized the sheer black material, running a finger over one of the white skulls printed on the shirt. “I can fix it. He mostly just ripped the buttons off.”
“That’s right,” Eliza teased, “I forgot my best friend is Martha Stewart.”
“You’re just jealous because I have talents that don’t make people look at me strange,” Kristie countered before shrugging off her jacket and handing it to Eliza. “Seriously, though, someday that gift of yours is going to get you killed.” The emphasis she put on the word gift suggested she thought it more a curse.
“Hey, that gift brought me you. It can’t be all bad.” Eliza rubbed the base of her neck before running her hands through her pixie cut and then sighing heavily.
“You dropped your beer Liza,” Her rugby coach denounced as he came into the room. “That’s a party foul. Clearly, we need to work on tackling without spilling your drink.”
“Sorry coach, I will work on that for next time.”