improvarama

She was easily mixed up. Working in the kitchen, she would sometimes misplace the ingredients. It riled her up, and yet it also gave her a kind of energy. "Have you seem my Thyme?" "We're all out of thyme." "Not true." "True." "Then, where is it?" "It's here, I've just misplaced it. And you're not helping." "Are you serious? I'm looking everywhere. Maybe if you'd alphabetize your spices and herbs." "Herbs and spices." "Huh?" "You're the one who wants them alphabetized." "Did you find your thyme yet?" Out of time. It was her biggest fear, and he pushed her over that edge. Or, did he? ------------------------- Picture This: 1. Find a random image (truly, close your eyes!) 2. Write for two minutes, inspired by that image. --------------------------

I sat in the back of the church, in what was now her office but was once the crying room, the place where people could be in church with their crying babies but be behind a glass wall. It was her office now. Not much need for a crying room. The church didn't see many babies these days. Mostly the few people who attended had gray hair. Or no hair. They walked slowly. And if they cried, it was oh so quietly. They did cry. Quietly. The minister was soft spoken. A kind man. A decent enough speaker but the rare paster who was truly a minister to the people and not an ego driven speaker. But he wasn't here. It's Tuesday. A parade of hopeful teens were getting their voice lessons, hoping to be on American Idol or some other talent show. Hoping to get into the high school musical. Hoping to set the world on fire and be famous. They didn't know the odds were slim and...to their parent's delight the voice teacher had a rep. She had a track record. She was more than a mi...