Prompt: Go to a public place (coffee shop, bus/subway station, library, whatever) during the day and sit down for fifteen minutes with a pen and paper. Watch people as they walk by going about their daily lives. Find a person who looks interesting and, just from watching them, write a paragraph about who they are, what they're doing there, whatever. Be as realistic or wild as you wish, but turn the stranger into a character.
Original Airdate: July 3, 2010
Her face was long and plain, made longer and plainer by her copper-highlighted bob that brushed her chin. Her dark eyes were neither engaged nor distant. They were just focused, though not on the speaker.
She glanced down at her folded hands in her lap, turning them this way and that, but not really looking. She had dreamed the night before that she was dancing and singeing to music that she had written. In her dream the music had filled and flowed through her as if her veins themselves were the music staff the notes had been penned on. When she had woken, her sheets had been pulled from the mattress, rumpled by her twisting and turning during the night.
She looked back up at the speaker, seeing her own talentless hands. She could not play any instrument. She could not sing. She could not even read music. She ached, seeing her barren hands in her mind's eye. She could feel the echoes of her dream's music in the bones of her hands and caressing the inside of her eyelids.