What are Prompted Writings? See here

Prompt: That was his idea not mine

First draft:

“That was his idea, not mine,” Molly shouted.  Molly referred to her twin brother Mitchell.  Their older sister Emily who was on babysitter duty heard the commotion and came to investigate.  Upon entering the room, Emily found the two younger ones engaged in hot debate, and when she inquired as to what was going on, it prompted Molly’s declaration.
“What idea?  What are you talking about?”  Emily asked.
“Nuh-uh!!”  Mitchell protested.  “It was not!  And she was the one who flipped the latch on the cage.”  Emily glanced at Pippen’s cage in the corner.  Pippen was their twenty-five year old Macaw.  Their parents had gotten Pippen early in their marriage— long before they had any of the kids.  And since Macaws live to an average age of seventy-five, he was still relatively a youngster.  Upon Emily’s inspection, the cage door was indeed open.  But Pippen was nowhere in sight.
“So who opened the cage door?”  Emily’s voice was a mixture of calm investigator and annoyed older sister.
“She did!  She did!” Blurted Mitchell.
“But I’m not the one who opened the window,” Molly shouted.  Emily snapped her attention to the window that hung open.  She briskly walked to the window to inspect it.
“This window?  You opened this widow after Pippen got out of his cage?”  The panic in her voice was rising.
“Pippen said he wanted it open,” Mitchell defended his action.  And his voice warbled as he said it.  Emily snapped her attention back over to Molly.  Her eyes were welling up now and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“We called and called to him, but he didn’t come back,” Molly said between sobs.   
Dad had been working on the screens so they had been taken down.  There was nothing separating Pippen from the wild blue yonder, and he exploited his advantage and was somewhere in the neighborhood probably right now trying to talk to a very unsuspecting pigeon.

First revision:

“That was his idea, not mine,” Molly shouted referring to her twin brother Mitchell.  She was responding to their older sister Emily who was heard the commotion and came to investigate. 
“What idea?  What are you talking about?”  Emily asked.
“Nuh-uh!!”  Mitchell protested.  “It was not!  And she was the one who opened the cage.”  Emily glanced at Pippen’s cage in the corner.  Pippen was their twenty-five year old Macaw.  Their parents had gotten Pippen early in their marriage— long before they had any of the kids.  And since Macaws live to an average age of seventy-five, he was still relatively a youngster.  The door was indeed open.  But Pippen was nowhere in sight.
“So who opened the cage door?”  Emily’s voice was a mixture of calm investigator and annoyed older sister.
“She did!  She did!” Blurted Mitchell.
“But I’m not the one who opened the window,” Molly shouted. 
“This window?”  Panic welled in Emily’s voice.  “You opened this window after Pippen got out of his cage?”
“Pippen said he wanted it open,” Mitchell defended his action.  And his voice warbled as he said it.  Emily snapped her attention back over to Molly.  Her eyes were welling up now and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“We called and called to him, but he didn’t come back,” Molly said between sobs.   
Dad had been working on the screens so they had been taken down.  There was nothing separating Pippen from the wild blue yonder, and he exploited his advantage and was somewhere in the neighborhood probably right now trying to talk to a very unsuspecting pigeon.

What are Prompted Writings? See here

Prompt: with great joy, I share with you what happened after…

(First Draft)

With great joy, I share with you what happened after I opened the letter.  Well, first, I suppose I should tell you about the letter.  I received a letter in the mail today.  The plain, white, letter sized envelope didn’t look out of the ordinary.  The edges were a bit worn from the processing and handling, but other than that it was ordinary.  But when I opened it, I saw nothing inside.  I pulled the flap back and opened the mouth of it wide to see if perhaps a small piece of paper stuck to the inside.  I turned it upside down.  I tore the envelope open to see if anything was written on the inside.  Nothing.  Strange.

That’s when I looked at the front again, and noticed the return address.  It was from Steven Elrod.  That went all the way back to grade school.  Sixth grade to be exact.  Half way through the year, a new student moved into our class.  It was a small school and an even smaller class.  So a new student was not common.  But then he also left as mysteriously as he came a few weeks later.  Ask me now why I even remember him and I couldn’t.  I had maybe a handful of conversations with him, never did anything with him outside of class, and I certainly hadn’t kept up with him in the last forty years.  So why was I now getting a letter from him— or more precisely, an envelope.  Then I noticed the return address.  China? 

(First Revision)

Opening that letter ignited a chain of events that still has my head swimming.  Well, first, I suppose I should tell you about the letter.  I received a letter today.  The envelope didn’t look out of the ordinary.  The edges were a bit worn from the processing and handling but nothing other than that.  The strange thing— it was empty.  I felt inside.  Nothing.  I turned it upside down.  Nothing. I tore it completely open and smoothed it flat on the desk to see if anything was written on the inside.  Nothing.  Strange.

That’s when I looked at the front again and noticed the return address.  It was from Steven Elrod.  That time-morphed me all the way back to grade school.  Sixth grade to be exact.  Half way through the year, a new student appeared in class.  It was a small school and an even smaller class.  So a new student was not common.  And then, a few weeks later, he left as mysteriously as he came.  Ask me now why I even remember him and I couldn’t tell you.  I had maybe a handful of conversations with him, never did anything with him outside of class, and I certainly hadn’t kept up with him in the last forty years.  So why was I now getting a letter from him— or more precisely, an envelope.  Then I noticed the return address.  China?