The complete list of 365 writing prompts can be found at thinkwritten.com
Take a moment to think about one of the most intimate moments in your life . . . a moment when you felt connected to another person. I’m talking about a connection more intimate than physical contact. A moment when you felt a connection in your soul.
It is said that the eyes are the gateway to the soul. To make eye contact with someone, even if it’s just for a moment, is to connect with them. Maybe you’ll be able to see something that they are keeping hidden . . . a sadness, a joy, a lie, a truth. The mouth can lie, but the eyes can not.
Eyes are possibly the most expressive part of the body, and to make eye contact with someone is to reach them on an intimate level. And that is the subject of today’s writing prompt. Eye contact. The assignment is to write about two people seeing each other for the first time. So, without further ado . . .
The room was large, open, and decorated to look like the interior of a barn. The stage at the front of the room was filled with musical equipment . . . a guitar, bass, keyboard, drum kit, speakers, and several microphones. Tables lined each side of the room, and the center of the room was left open as a dance floor. The space was used frequently for musical acts and dances. Most of the entertainers who took the stage were local acts, bands that played together for fun and as an escape from the tedium of their day jobs.
She entered the room that night expecting nothing more than to watch her friend play with his band that night. She was prepared for a couple hours of good music, maybe a little bit of dancing, and then to go home. She looked around the room and noticed that most of the audience was quite a bit older than her, and they all were decked out in their cowboy boots, best jeans, pearl-snap shirts, and cowboy hats. She found a seat at a table near the stage and people-watched while she waited for her friend to arrive.
She never saw the band members take the stage, but the lead singer greeting the audience is what finally grabbed her attention. She spotted her friend on the stage and gave him a wave. She noticed that the rest of the band members were all about the same age as the audience . . . every band member, except for one. The keyboard player. He was much younger. He looked young enough to be the son of one of the guys in the band. She was captivated. He had dirty blonde hair. Compared to the rest of the band he was short. He was trim. His Captain America t-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders just enough to hint at the solid muscles beneath it. His dark blue jeans were worn and comfortable looking, like they had been worn during many a performance. His black Converse high-tops had obviously seen a lot of life as well.
She had gone to watch her friend play with his band, but she could not turn her gaze away from the man on the keyboard.
During the show intermission she went outside to talk to her friend as the band quickly smoked their cigarettes before returning to the stage. She knew most of the other band members, having met them at previous shows, so an unfamiliar voice grabbed her attention. She turned around to find the source of the voice and it was him, the keyboard player. He was standing right behind her. When he noticed her looking at him he gave her a quick but small smile and quickly looked away. It was dark outside so she was unable to get any kind of impression from the look on his face. She wanted to see him in the light. She wanted to find out his name and talk to him. Her curiosity was killing her.
The band went back inside and took their places on the stage again and soon their second set was under way. Again, she could not take her eyes off the keyboard player. She felt drawn to him, and like everyone else in the room knew she could not take her eyes off of him. The rest of the set passed in a haze. She did not notice a single song they played as she watched the keyboard player.
As the evening came to an end and she prepared to leave, disappointed at not having even learned the keyboard player’s name, she told her friend goodbye and turned to walk away.
“I don’t even get a hug or a goodbye or anything?” It was his voice, and he was talking to her.
Her breath quickened as she frantically tried to think of a witty response. Nothing. Her mind was blank. She turned around and there he was, standing right behind her. He eyes! They were such a deep brown that his pupil was almost lost in the depth of the brown. He was staring at her, waiting for her response, but no words would escape her lips. But his eyes said that he knew what she was thinking. A connection. Unable to turn her gaze away from him, she gave him a smile.
“In case you’re wondering, my name is Eric.”
“Carrie,” she responded, her voice just a bit more than a whisper.
“I hope I’ll see you again very soon, Carrie. If you’ll give me your number, I’ll text you when I’m playing again.”
He typed the numbers into his phone as her weak voice spoke them. She gave him a reluctant goodbye, and left the event hall. Before she made it to her car she got a text . . . “I couldn’t stop watching you all night. I almost didn’t say anything to you. Too nervous, but your eyes drew me in. When can I see you again?”
And it all started with just a brief moment of eye contact.
Here is a sneak peak at the topic for day 007: The Rocket-ship: Write about a rocket-ship on it’s way to the moon or a distant galaxy far, far, away.
Until next time . . .