April’s #JustWrite prompt


#JustWrite prompt for April is (drum roll…)


forget fəˈgɛt 

verb (forgetsforgettingforgotpast participle forgotten or chiefly US forgotwith obj. ] 

fail to remember: he had forgotten his lines | [ with clause ] :  she had completely forgotten how hungry she was.

• inadvertently neglect to do or mention something: [ with infinitive ] :  she forgot to lock her door.

• deliberately cease to think of: forget all this romantic stuff | [ no obj. ] :  for years she had struggled to forget about him.

• (forget itinformal said when insisting to someone that there is no need for apology or thanks. ‘I’m sorry …’ she began. ‘Forget it’.

• (forget oneselfneglect to behave in an appropriate way. ‘I’m sorry, Cassie. I forget myself’.

Go your hardest and free write a maximum of 500 words and put it in the comments. Comments are encouraged for all posts. 


Nell closed the album gently and sat for a quiet moment before she stood. She made her way into the bathroom and stared at her gloomy reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes red-rimmed. Damn it, she thought, why do I always have to react like that? Bloody well get over it already Nell.

Water starts to well again in her already-sore eyes, so she strips her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the ground. Something she never ever does. By the time the water runs from hot to cold in the shower, she has exhausted herself of all her tears and reached a calmer head space.

The invitation had not been expected. How in the hell did they get her address? She thought that she had been completely out of the loop. It’s not like she had kept in contact with anyone over the years. She thought she had been forgotten.

“Petronella is a fella!”, “P starts for pussy, penis and Petronella!”, “P..P..P..P..Petronellaaaa!”

The schoolyard taunts haunted her. She had hated her parents for years, for naming her after her great-grandmother. While she had eventually grown to be proud of her inherited name, she tended to call herself Nell when in public.

And now, a school reunion. She had missed the first reunion – no invitation received then – but it was now another ten years on and they had found her. It came from the Burwood State School Reunion Committee of ’96.

Twelve years of only the odd friend here and there, before they too became embarrassed from the endless teasing that eventually became poked at them as well. Twelve years of being the last picked for any sports team. Twelve years of her chair being constantly kicked from behind in class. But she had persevered, and in the end, she had been Dux of Grade 12. The upside of having nothing to do except study.

This time when she stares herself down through the foggy glass, her face is fresher, less puffy.  She stalks naked, back through the house to the invitation on the kitchen table, grasping at a pair of scissors along the way. She takes glee in cutting it into the smallest pieces possible, before sweeping them with one arm into the bin.

As she calmly walks back to the bedroom to get dressed, she stops and looks at the photographs filling her walls. Her wedding day. Her two happy, healthy children. And her many, many friends. She may have lucked out while at school, but she sure has hit the jackpot since.


How would you interpret the prompt, ‘forget’?

Have a go, and put your piece in the comments. 


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