I feel a bit more confident about this next attempt because there are so many places I can go with it.  As is my bad habbit, here is a bit of an explanation of it before I actually write.  If you don't care about my explaining, then just go past the line and start reading there.

So I am to write about a hobby of mine.  Well, I've never really been able to stick to one hobby or passion, so it was hard to choose, however, thanks to band camp I have found something I can go with.  It is actually a combination of a few different things I have a passion for, but that all come down to one thing: rythem.

I am a singer.  I am in my school's honors choir class and I am one of the choir director's strongest singers as well as one of the ones that catches on the easiest and has the most energy when singing, not to mention one of her best behaved students.  I love to sing.  I love music in general.

I am a military gal.  I joined my school's Marine Corps ROTC class in place of gym and got hooked.  The persuit of excellence.  Leading by example.  The preciseness and detail.  And I absolutely loved... drilling.  Left.  Left.  Left, right, left.  Left.  Left, right, left.  Change step.  To the Rear.  Forward.  Marktime.  Right and left oblight.  Left and right step.  Left face, right face, about face.  Parade rest.  Dress right dress.  Open ranks.  Close ranks.  Platoon, attention.  March!  I loved to be drill leader.  I had the loudest and most commanding voice.  But even when not drill leader, I still loved drill.  The uniformity of it all.  The rythem.  And all those precice movements, not to mention I kinda loved the boots for the uniforms.  And when given "fall out", one step back and shout "aye aye sir/ma'am" then an about face and shout "hooah!"

This worked out very well for me when I joined color guard for the band.  We have marching, where we must both pay attention to how we march and take precise steps and stay in step with the correct footing and we have to be in the precise spot for the formation.  There's the counting, making sure we use the exact number of steps, and all the while we have to remember what chord we're on and which part of the flag routine we're on, just as the band has to remember which part they're playing while still marching just the right way.  And no matter which way you are going you must always face the front.  I spend a lot of time walking backwards in our current routine.  The timing of it all.  Remembering all those details and making sure you get to the next part correctly.  And despite how it is so precise and rigid with the timing, in the end the parts just flow together like water.

So, with that SUPER LONG explanation finished, here is my prose about band camp.

I'm With the Band

"Marktime, march!"  One, two, three, four.  We march in place to get our step.  We have to do this drill a dozen times to know where everyone is because we cannot look left or right.  Always look forward.  Always face the crowd.  Use your peripheral vison, but that doesn't help when you're marching backwards.  We know where to go.  We know how to get there.  And we have to get there in exactly sixteen steps.  Exactly sixteen.  No more, no less, do not get there early.  Everything is timed out exactly.  If your next position is close, take smaller steps.  They don't care how you get there, as long as you get there as close as possible.

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, HALT!  Two, three, four...."  We are in a hold, we do not marktime, which means if we are just a little bit off, we cannot fix ourselves.  We must stand exactly where we are, even if we are in the wrong place.

Always start on the left foot.  Never on the right.  On every odd number your left foot should be hitting the ground.  On every even number, your right.  Don't forget, soon we won't be able to count aloud because we have to play the music.  But I am not a band member.  I do not play music.  I cannot play an instrument.  So why do I say "we"?

Because I am a Flag Girl.  I am on the Color Guard.  Loud and proud, I am with the band.  So while the band plays their nice music, we make their music look nice as well.  They are the audio.  We add visual.  This is not just any music.  This is Marching Band.

"Band, ten-hut!"  BAND!  "Band, horns up!"  Snap to attention.  Hold up your weapon.  This is a battlefield of rythem.  Of sound.  Timing is everything.

One, two, three, four.  My job is to Flourish.  Five, six, seven, eight.  Now throw in a Jasmine Spin.  Don't forget!  Keep in step!  Spin the flag and don't hit your legs.  HALT!  Two, three, four, Pinwheel, clank!  Seems I've hit my head.  Too bad!  The time is still marching on and the band continues.  Find your spot and get back in there.  Keep on time!  Don't lose your step!  Oh yeah, and when we play the school song, the Flags will have to sing the lyrics, too.  Five, six, seven, eight, go team show your might!  Scoop Scoops, then Eastern.

Keep in step, stay with the rythem, remember where you are, if you screw up, people will know, so practice.  In the heat.  In the sun.  For hours.  With sore legs and feet.  Your arms get tired from keeping them up, but you cannot let them rest, you must keep them at your shoulders.  Hard work and dedication is what it takes.  And nothing could be more thrilling than the anticipation of getting it right.

Not bad for the first day.  With two more months of practice you'll be ready for competition.  Who cares about the football team.  They just work out and slam into eachother dressed in tights while they toss a ball around.  But me.

I'm with the band.

Okay, so this one is going to be the first one I'm going to try submitting.  The prompt merely said it had to be inspired by plants, not feature them as the main part.  So, here is my prose story inspired by dried flowers that people press into books and put in albums like pictures.  I hope I'm not too late to submit.  I don't think I'll win with this, but I want to submit it anyway.  And because I've got weird thoughts in my head discouraging me I'm not going to vote at all for a winner.  Next time.  When I don't feel like a loser cuz it's my first time submitting.

I left the ending as a cut-off because the concept of the flowers being memories is already expressed.

Flower Album

Every bit about the woman was sharp.  From how she carried herself, to her clothes, to her tongue.  A business woman by trade and a leader born to be.  Her skin was lightly tanned despite numerous hours spent indoors and what little make-up she wore was solely to maintain a proffessional look.  Any curves or bust she had to speak of were hidden beneath a rigid, well kempt, black business suit worn properly with tights and polished, black heels.  The flowing mane of dusy brown hair she clearly had was held tightly in a bun and one wondered how she got it so neat without ripping something from her skull.

She marched up to the desk of the secretary and began handing her papers.  "Go over these and have them on the boss' desk the moment you're done and have him know that I already took care of the memo he's about to get."

Before the woman could march off, the secretary called her attention, "Wait, Ms. Brand.  Um, I would like to know if maybe you and I could... hang out sometime."  The young woman seemed a bit nervous, though her smile was inviting.  "Perhaps this weekend?  We can do whatever you want.  I'm open to anything."  She was a fairly young woman and had been working there since her high school days.  She had graduated by now and was now keeping the job to help get herself through college.  Her hair was black and slightly messy despite the obvious effort to keep it in order, contrasting with the smooth, pale complexion of her skin.  She wasn't what you would call a nerd or geek, but she was far from being dim-witted.

For that moment Ms. Brand's expression melted into a honey sweet smile.  "Sure.  We'll watch a movie and get drunk at my place this Friday.  You can sleep over if you want.  And maybe I'll teach you how to get your hair to cooperate better.  Also, you can call me Casey."

"Tina," the girl replied.

Casey turned on her heel and snapped back to the other direction, resuming her rigid demeanor of before.

Come Friday, Tina rang the doorbell of Casey's flat and soon the door opened to reveal a beautiful, relaxed woman.  Her entire being seemed to spill out a calm, country aura.  There was long, dusty brown hair flowing every which-way and her tanned skin seemed to glow with a honey-smooth complexion.  She wore a white wife-beater that showed her light curves on a body that wasn't large, but definately could take a hit or two without breaking and a pair of fitted jeans without shoes.

"Oh!  I'm sorry, I must be at the wrong place," Tina exclaimed to be confronted with giggles.

"No, hun, you're at the right place," Casey explained and invited Tina in.

The house was definately a city dwelling.  Things were organized and had a modern feeling to them.  The only thing to speak of that was even slightly country was the beat-up book sitting open on the table.  Tina went over to look while Casey went to the fridge.  Inside the book was a collection of pressed flowers.

"These flowers are beautiful," Tina complimented as she was handed a beer.

"They're the only things I have that truely remind me of home," she responded as she opened her own beer, then pointed to the forget-me-nots on the open page, "Those were given to me by my last boyfriend before I moved away to go to college.  When he gave me these he said, 'If you're single by the time you turn 35 I'd still like to marry you, and I've got these flowers for your collection so you won't forget!'  God he was a cute one."

The prompt for this one is simple.  I was given the phrase, "And then.  There was light."  And I am supposed to explain why there was light.

And then there was light, as the TV screen flicked on.

And then there was light, as a new bulb was screwed in.

And then there was light, as the car was jumped to life, the headlights back on full glow, shining on the grease stained woman in front.  She wore baggy jeans and an oil stained white tank-top and a pair of leather gloves on her hands with a pair of grey sneakers kicking the pavement for her.  "There ya go, Carl!  She's all reved up for ya," she shouted at the driver as he got out to talk to her.

"Hey, Kimi, you're coming to that concert with me, right?" he asked her, looking like a puppy begging for a treat.

"No, Carl, you know music isn't my thing.  Music to me is the hum of electronics and the pur of an engine running."

"Come on!  Please?  I'll bet I can get them to let you work on some of the equipment."

"And how are you supposed to do that?"

"Backstage passes, anyone?"

"Hm, that is tempting.  Backstage passes are quite a deal to pass up, even for someone who isn't a music fanatic.  Alright, but only because it's you."

With the deal set and Carl seeming quite happy, he drove her over to where the concert was taking place.  Turned out Carl knew the band that was playing and it also seemed that he talked a lot about Kimi.  A good time was had by all despite several times of someone having to dissapear for a moment to prepare something.  Then one of the band members walked in seeming somewhat distressed.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Carl asked, getting up.

"Oi, it seems that one of the stage's big TV moni'ers has kinda malfunctioned, and the guy that's supposed to fix it if anyfin' went wrong isn' here.  Oi, Kimi girl.  You're good wif ele'tronics, right?"

"Yeah, but, uh, where did that accent come from?  You didn't have an accent before."

"Uh, right.  It's stage presence.  The fans love the accent.  Now, you think you can help a mate out, here?"

"Sure, I got it," she sighed with a smile as she got up and followed him to the stage.

It was mostly dark on stage, so the crowd couldn't see anything and couldn't wonder why she was up there with a band member.  He brought her to the TV and showed her the cords that seemed to be mixed up.  "Well here's where your problem is," she explained easily, babbling about things the guy wouldn't understand.  She hooked things up properly and then turned around to find the band member she had been talking to had left.

And then there was light.  Two stage lights turned on, one shining directly on her, the other shining on Carl, who was front and center on stage with his guitar and a microphone standing in front of him.  "Hello everyone, I am the opening act tonight.  My name is Carl, and I pulled in a few favors so I could sing a love song to you all."  He pointed behind him as he continued, "This beautiful lady right here, her name is Kimi.  And she doesn't know it, but I am in love with her.  This song tonight is for her."  He then turned to her, holding the microphone in front of himself.  "Kimi, won't you be my girlfriend?" he asked before turning back towards the crowd and begining his song.