This short piece was inspired by the writers group Prompt of February 17th, 2025. Here is the prompt: Focus on writing one vivid scene without worrying about the bigger story. Pick a specific place and describe it in detail, including sights, sounds, and smells. Bring in one or two characters, describing how they look and move. Set the mood of the scene, whether it’s tense, joyful, or eerie, using descriptive words to convey this atmosphere. Write dialogue or actions that show how the characters relate to each other. Include small details that make the scene feel real, like a dripping faucet, the hum of a fridge, or a character’s nervous habit. Aim for a scene that can be read in a few minutes, focusing on making it vivid and engaging.
Sunday was sauce day. The pungent, tang of freshly stewed tomatoes woke Angelina from a deep sleep, one of those crusty-eyed, heavy head sleeps that make it difficult to come up to the surface from. But that smell, sharp enough to drill through her cataleptic slumber, was persevering.
She listened; her eyes still glued close as she drifted awake. From the kitchen immediately below her bedroom, in this old barn of a house, she heard the faint tinny whine of a transistor radio – Papa’s. She strained to hear the music, identifying snippets of vibrato and bass. Was it Bongusto? Aldo Clementi? She peeled her eyelids open, squinting at the morning sun stroking across her duvet, one bright beam aimed directly at her left iris. The music faded.
She closed her eyes again and the thrum of the radio rose in her ears. Ah, she heard it now, Tony Renis. She hummed Quando, Quando, Quando, the sound of her singing vibrating through her sinus, her chest, into her stomach. She smiled.
“Angelina!”
Her eyes shot open, and they darted around her bedroom, like heat seeking missiles, searching for any telltale signs of Enzo having spent the night.
The bedroom door burst inward, and her mother, Giovaninna, stood in the frame, sun from the hallway window silhouetting her tiny visage.
“Andiamo!” her mother barked, shattering the meditative space.
“AH, Mamma!” Angelina moaned and pulled the duvet over her head. Her hair crackled on her satin pillowcase, the remnants of last night’s underpinnings of Aqua Net flaking and crumbling like ancient ruins onto her sheets.
“Fannullona!”
“I’m getting up.”
Giovannina sniffed deeply, her nose working itself up and down in a comical wiggle.
“What is dis smell?” Her mothers brows furrowed deeply.
Angelina swung her tanned legs out from under the covers, slipping her feet into the wool slippers laid neatly on the rug.
“Sauce” she responded.
“No, not the sugo. Something else.” Her mother grumbled.
Giovannina began stalking around the perimeter of the tiny room, shuffling through shorts, t-shirts, and socks strewn across the floor. As she plowed through the flotsam and jetsam of Angelina’s past week, she picked items up one by one, shoving them into the basket she had made of her apron.
“Ma, please, stop.”
“Pigra.” Giovannina mumbled, carrying out her task of setting Angelinas life straight through laundry. And then, she saw it.
And so did Angelina, who dove, knees scraping on rug, to grab the offending article of clothing before Giovannina could pick it up.
White men’s briefs.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. These words kept beat with Angelinas heart as her body lifted off the ground with the electric force of her anxiety.
“Che Cos’e?” Giovannina spit out, lunging forward and grabbing the fabric from Angelina.
Angelina held on with all her strength, the cotton weave stretching to its max. But Giovannina did not let go.
Two women, one garment, a dual of force. They stood locked down, eyes wide, of fear and of disbelief.
“Cara mia.” Giovannina whispered.
“Mamma…”
Giovannina let go. Angelina fell backwards, protected from hitting the floor by her bed frame. With an ‘oof’ she slid down onto the ground, the offending briefs still gripped tightly in her hand, her knuckles blue grey with distress. Her hair, in chunky day old, lacquered pieces, hung down over her face, shielding her eyes.
The transistor played on, louder now in the distance.
Then we were given a second prompt:
Zoom in on a single detail from your scene a sound, an object, or a character’s movement and expand on it. Describe it in even more depth, using all the senses. How does it feel, smell, or affect the atmosphere? Let this small detail shape the scene in a new way, revealing something about the setting or the characters that wasn’t obvious before.
“AH, Mamma!” Angelina moaned and pulled her duvet over her head. Her voice reverberated in her head, ricocheting painfully, illuminating nerve endings once dulled by the evenings martini’s. She braced her head with her hands, still gripping the edge of the satin duvet, smashing it into her water swollen face. A wave of nausea rose, stinging her gullet and she swallowed deeply, forcefully submitting her stomach contents back down into their captivity. Her tongue, leaden and thick, lay listless, useless in its hungover demise. Her hair crackled on her satin pillowcase, the remnants of last night’s underpinnings of Aqua Net flaking and crumbling like ancient ruins.