Kenzie: This past week

This week was packed full of aspects of inspiration and different types of writing. I really enjoyed Ms. Grosart's workshop on Flash Fiction. As a new genre of literacy new doors were opened and I think that was the whole point of our project. I found new areas of inspiration, and learned from authors sharing their own sources. The conference we attended was a cool look inside the creative minds of others and how an artists work expresses themselves. Throughout the week I was inspired, not only to write but to simply express more of what I see in the world. My "inner eye" as one speaker said is unique. How I see things and experience them is different than anyone else, and I like the idea that through writing and art I have the power to share that. One of the exercises we did was for a flash fiction assignment. Each of us received different instructions of where to walk and from there to look for a source of inspiration. I walked towards Alby's, the country store I see almost everyday and found an old fountain. This was the source of my inspiration for the following little blurb.....

Clapp's Fountain
He shivered. He waited. The hard wood of the fence post dug into his back and the wind chilled his spine. He pulled the flap of his coat up and tucked his hat down further over his eyes. The outlines of the buildings behind him were strong, their brick and white accents barely visible in the clouded night. The remaining winter snow glared from the full moon. And still he waited.
From somewhere in the night a crow cawed. A creak sounded from a window in Randall, the old science building. All the students were done trick or treating and had gone back to their dorms to sleep soundly, exhausted from the night's festivities It was the witching hour, a time when all the lights were out and the spirits of Halloween in their prime. His thoughts spun out of control into a fantastical world of witches and demons, and he allowed his imagination to thrive in the tumultuous realm of haunting spirits. Still, he waited. The idea that Clapp wouldn't show up was at the back of his mind, threatening to make him leave. Yet he refused to be swayed. He needed what Clapp had and he was not going to leave his post. Before him a dark figure came out of the woods, transforming into a slim man with a fedora jauntily tilted towards his left eye. He hopped the curb and bounced to a stop. They inspected each other.
"Are you Clapp?"
"Aye, I'm here ain't I?"
"Rumford," the waiting man extended his hand, but Clapp waved it away.
"No need for that, chap. I'll just be doing my business and be on my way. It's the workings of the night, ya know. It being the witching hour and all," Clapp winked and smiled charmingly.
He placed something in the dry well of the drinking fountain, then nodded to Rumford. He skipped the curb and the last Rumford saw of Clapp was his slim form swaggering off down the road, whistling into the night.
Rumford grabbed the goods, his hand greedily feeling their form. He was delighted to finally have what he needed so desperately. His fingertips trembled at the sensation of holding it at last.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, "I must wait for tomorrow. The plan will work much better that way." He cackled, his head tilting back, silhouetted against the stark landscape of the snow, and somewhere across campus a crow echoed him.