I use prompts for writing. Not always but during the past years, I do or at least try to write daily. If nothing pops up or I want to write something fast I free write, at least that's what I tell myself. Five minutes only. Even with a smartphone, it's not so difficult if you practice enough. I guess nearly three years writing apostles about 'nothing' or everything makes one faster, faster, and smarter. By the way, writing doesn't take much time but editing does, and even worse is waiting for the site and the photo to load. At times it takes me hours which means I am tired and need to fight my dizziness. It's bedtime at least it is for me.
The prompt is 'describe the your front door'. Indeed 'the your front door'. I guess Grammarly didn't run or was ignored otherwise it would have removed this mistake. If it isn't a mistake I can only come up with...
"Please, help me," she said.
I glanced at the bewildered woman. She wasn't the kind of person I would call old, old enough to forget where she lived I mean. Was she kidding me? She should at least be able to tell me her address or what the house she lived in looked like.
She stood in front of my desk and tried to grab my sleeve but I kept a social distance as we all did in this epoch.
"Will you please, wear this facemask," I asked her while I put a new one on the desk. "You can keep the plastic back. Put it back in there once back h..."
I wondered why she didn't wear one. It was 2028 and law since 2020. Even with a bad memory, it should be a habit by now.
"You need to help me. I forgot where I live," she said while putting on the mask.
"Are you hit on the head?"
Her hand touched her skull and searched through her hair, next observed her hand.
"I don't think so, I'm lost or... I think I am because I can't find the door to my home."
She had a strange way of expressing herself. It was good to notice she calmed down.
"Perhaps I can help you out," I said while my hand went underneath the desk and pressed the silent alarm button. They would come and help her out.
"You will help me?"
She sounded surprised, tried to grab my hand and I would swear she intended to kiss it for gratefulness. I pulled it back and her face landed on my desk.
"Well you could start to describe the... your front door," I hastily said ignoring the possibility she might have heard her face.
"It's red", she said, " as red as those phoneboxes. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. I tried to call but the phone disappeared too.
That's a pretty sad segmwnt though. Why consider people of old age insane right off the bat l?