Writing Prompt - For the Fun of It

This week we take a little break from all the conference prep, contests, synopsis writing, querying, and plotting to write something JUST FOR THE FUN OF IT. We invite you to join us in a little writing exercise because sometimes we all need to remember that joy of creating with no strings or pressure attached. Each of the Muses will respond to the same writing prompt below. Please feel free to join in and post your responses here. I think we'll all be amazed at the different perspectives to the exact same prompt. Enjoy!

At a used book sale, you purchase a leather-bound volume. At home, you thumb through the pages and an old letter tumbles out.


What does it say? Write the letter.

Lake Jackson
May 30, 1912

Dear Sheriff Danville,

I know who killed Greenville Jackson. I know as sure as I saw his body fall dead into the lake last Friday evening. The moon was just rising when I came upon them arguing in the woods. They were carrying on something fierce, and I was right surprised, because I couldn't think why Greenville Jackson would be down here by the lake at this time of night. It was almost time for dinner up at that big white house of his and nobody should have been on this path. I crouched down behind a mulberry bush and waited. If I waited long enough, I thought, they would surely head on back up the hill. But they just got louder and louder and then it happened.

I didn't even see the gun at first, but then the moon hit it just right. I clapped my hand over my mouth hard to keep any sound from escaping. My heart was right up into my throat and pouding so hard I was sure they were bound to hear. Greenville saw the gun the same time I did, because he started to change the way he was talking. He kept saying he was sorry, but it didn't matter. It was too late to matter. The gun went off and in that flash of light I saw the murderer as clear as day. I couldn't move and I couldn't scream. I just stared, even though I didn't want to see. And then I saw that murderer throw the gun down on the dirt and run back up toward the house. But the thing I remember most, was Greenville Jackson's dying eyes staring right into mine as he fell back into the swampy waters of Jackson Lake.

I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell everyone. But all I did was watch. Watch as you carried an innocent man off to jail. I should have been shouting out to everyone that would listen, “I know William Wood Jackson did not kill his brother.” But I didn’t say anything. I can never say anything.

A Witness