As you go, remember

Photo prompt © Ayr/Gray

There were hazards to snare the inattentive traveller. Adam set out determined to tread carefully, having been warned.

He began, enjoying the feeling of his legs pumping, his feet pounding earth. The path was smooth, running alongside a sparkling stream where waterfowl drifted. There was a high fence alongside, to keep out wolves and dragons. Adam listened, sure he could hear them snuffling, feel their fire, their claws.

The first change came then, as he heeded the wild sounds. The way became steeper, bendier, with cracked, gaping cobbles underfoot, where ankles could twist and toes catch. Thorny vegetation overgrew the path. Adam struggled for a foothold. 

He stopped often, tiring, and realised he couldn’t hear the wolves and dragons, their scratchings and mutterings. He moved on, eyes on the ground ahead, careful not to wander off, although he did so several times, becoming lost.  Again and again he returned, retracing his steps to the true path and brushing off twigs and prickles lodged in skin and clothing. 

In time the path became smooth once more, traversing a high, flat plateau, and Adam was surprised how it sapped his energy just to take each step. Why, when the journey was now so easy? Again he paused, and turned, to see the way he’d come—the waterway, its gentle birds, the wilderness and lurking monsters, the arduous middle where he’d struggled to maintain direction.

He found a grassy spot, where he could see it all, and thought he’d stay, and sleep awhile.

***

This 250 word story is for The Unicorn Challenge, hosted by Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr.

Finding Happy

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Toby found Happy at the kindergarten fete.

From then on Happy shared his pillow and his play, and I cleaned and mended him until disintegration threatened.

So one night I took him from Toby’s bed and buried him, deep in the garbage bin.

Next morning I was ready. New doll, convincing story. But Toby was inconsolable. “I want my Happy,” he wailed.

He quietened, eventually, but over the years his smiles were fewer, less easy. 

Life hasn’t been kind to Toby.  He’s still searching.

I sleep poorly, haunted by that old doll’s face. Sometimes, it seems he’s laughing, or howling.

***

This is my 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can read stories by other contributors here.

The view from a diving bell

Photo prompt © Ayr/Gray

Dear Edward,

I’ve been reading about hearts. I’ve got time for reading now. Since you left. Did you know that the blue whale’s heart is as big as a small room? That worms have eleven hearts? That single-cell bacteria have none, just fluid, sloshing around? Inside, we’re all churning.

But I haven’t just sat around reading and moping about how you brought me here to this god-forsaken place and then left. You’d be surprised how I’m getting on with things. Who’d have thought I’d end up here, twenty metres underwater? 

No, don’t worry, this isn’t a suicide letter. I decided to try something new. And underwater salvage operations are proving to be a wonderful distraction from the disappointments of life. 

Being down below gives a whole new perspective on things. Trust, for instance—I have to trust this lump of metal to protect me. Teamwork for instance—we have to work things out together. Loyalty, for instance—we look after one another.

And then there’s the octopus. We watch him through the plexiglass. He hovers nearby and we know he’s also watching us. Working out if we’re friend or foe. Did you know octopuses have three hearts? And a brain in each tentacle? Did you know they can prise open containers to build shelters and escape confinement?

I imagine our octopus prising open this capsule, wrapping its tentacles around me, squeezing until my heart explodes.

Not that this could happen. Of course not.

Yours from a cold, dark place,

Evelyn

***

This is my 250 word story for The Unicorn Challenge, hosted by Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr. 

Like my MC, I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately, and finding many things to ooh and aah about. Hearts and diving bells and octopuses – fascinating. I must say that the essay ‘Joyas Voladoras’ by Brian Doyle is worth filing away and revisiting. Beautiful language, beautiful ideas. The concept of us all ‘churning inside’ is his. I stole it. So now I’m acknowledging it.

And yes, I checked. The plural of octopus is not octopi. It’s octopuses, or for the etymology pedants among us – octopodes, as per its Greek origins. Also, while I’m thinking of cephalopods, there’s this little miracle. I think calamari might be off my menu from now on.

Below is a little video about diving bells. Did you know they were first described by Aristotle in the 4th century BC? I read that, too.

Metamorphosis

PHOTO PROMPT © Fleur Lind

I admit I was conflicted.

But I did it. Informed, betrayed, switched sides.

Hindsight shows it was the only way. But still, I get – feelings – when I glimpse, through the canopy, houses crumbling, powerful SUVs rusted, diminished.

There was the ultimatum, you see. Species or planet? 

They’d been silent till then, networking out of earshot. Underground. Chemical pathways.

They’d noticed my forest-wandering, tree-hugging tendencies and figured I was ok. Me and some others.

So now my neighbours and I use rootchat to keep in touch. We’ve adjusted. I’m quite pleased with my tall, sturdy, new body—no gym membership needed.

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

This is my 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Read more stories written in response to this week’s photo prompt here.

And here’s a fascinating article – a little long, but worth a look.

Waiting

Photo prompt © Ayr/Gray

I pull up in front of the art school half an hour early, and stand outside the car, to soak it in, to watch the students walking past and imagine I’m just like them, sure of who I am and where I’m going, surrounded by friends, laughing at some joke or complaining about study loads or professors who belong back with the dinosaurs.

They walk with purpose, heads high. I recognise in their faces the same hunger, the same drive I have felt, but dared not show, for fear of mockery. There was no place for such nonsense in my childhood home.

“You want what?” my father spat when I told him my dream. “Pictures? You’ve watched your mother and me struggle for years and you think it’s all been so you can go off and paint pictures?”

So my decision was made. I left, turning my back on my father’s scorn.

I’ve learned since then about struggle, hearing echoes of my father’s words every day, but I don’t give up. I wait until my time comes, knowing where I belong, knowing I’ll find a way to believe it, to make it real. 

I see her coming out now, loaded down with art supplies, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to bid her friends goodbye, until tomorrow, then she comes towards me, smiling, and here she is, that same drive in her face, her pictures tucked under her arm.

“Hi Dad,” she greets me. “Thanks for picking me up.” 

***

This story is for The Unicorn Challenge, hosted by Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr.

Under his nose

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

My father? Paranoid?

Cutting-edge security cameras, emergency alarms, steel mesh screens. Perfectly reasonable, he says. An investment in my future. I’ll thank him one day, when it’s mine. He won’t lie down like a dog just because some good-for-nothing shoplifting hooligan thinks he can help himself.

Not him, he says. Not like his neighbours, griping and complaining but doing nothing about the punk who’s been robbing them blind, pilfering merchandise that’s just lying there like an open invitation.

My dad? Paranoid? No, but he could have spared himself the expense. Everyone knows you don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

***

This is my 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Stories from others in response to this week’s prompt are to be found here.

I’ve been subscribing to a few Substack newsletters about writing, and my story this week is the result of combining a couple of writing exercises. The short opening paragraph is based on an idea from Nina Schuyler, who provides model sentences, (usually much longer than the one I’ve used here) and a very nerdy breakdown of the syntax and style. The idea is you then write a sentence of your own in imitation. Yes – nerdy. That’s her word so I feel ok using it.

The narrative point of view in my story this week was suggested by this exercise in Mary g.’s Substack: Write a story where the protagonist has done something wrong.

I’ve now subscribed to several wonderful newsletters by fabulous writers who are generous in sharing insights into their own writing process, plus studies of a variety of stories, and exercises. I’m learning from the likes of George Saunders, Kathy Fish, Nina Schuyler, Mary g. (I don’t know who she is – mystery lady, but so good) and Jeannine Ouellette.

The ride

Photo prompt © Ayr/Gray

It was a bright morning, rich with possibilities. I’d just arrived, but how? I looked for someone to ask, but I was alone. I’d wait, and see where I ended up.

We drew into a station buzzing with excitement. Posters of foreign lands covered every wall.  Clusters of travellers, luggage-laden, chattered together. Yes. I’d join them. I stood, then hesitated. I had no luggage, no knowledge of distant places. And with a shrug, the train moved on. I pressed my face to the window, wishing I’d been braver.

At the next slowing I stood to disembark, but this place had a sombre look. Furrow-browed people huddled in discussion. These were wise and powerful travellers.  I moved towards the exit and tried to call out, seeking understanding, but no sound came, and I scuttled back to my seat.

The following stop was palatial. Richly clothed travellers strolled, admiring each other. I could be like them, wealthy, unencumbered, joyous. I glanced down, and recoiled. I was naked. I cowered in shame, and to my relief the train moved on.

I passed through a multitude of stations, each offering a different way, a different future. I stayed put.

Then came a shuddering stop. Had I dozed? Outside was black, deserted. Someone spoke, and I stood, bewildered.

“Terminus,” came the voice. “End of the line.”

And in disbelief I stumbled out into that dark place. “Already?” I cried, but I was alone. Then I noticed, on a distant platform, a faint, flickering sign: “Board here to try again.”

***

A train carriage. Empty. What a great prompt. Thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for hosting The Unicorn Challenge. This is my story for this week.

So little time; so many books

PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Rouchard

Here’s my problem. I love a good book. No worries, you say, there’s plenty.

But that’s exactly the problem. I want to read them all.

I make priority lists: best reviews, catchiest opening, prettiest cover …

Doesn’t help. My head’s spinning; my book pile’s growing.

Then I recall my school librarian’s advice: “You can lose yourself in a book.”

I do it. I choose one, leap, and I’m in—the paper’s more permeable than you’d believe. 

The words become a soothing whisper. I’m lost, as promised. No decisions, no prioritising, just the next word, and the next, one at a time.

📚📚📚

Another 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can read other writers’ stories inspired by the prompt here.

Here’s an article from Electric Literature with recommendations for eight books about libraries and books.

Night walker

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Splitting the blue expanse of bay and sky hung the bridge, its lights in rhythmic counterpoint to festive reflections from houses lining the water’s edge, as though the world was not discordant, chaotic. 

I walked, measuring my steps to a steady rhythm of my own, beating out a pace that anchored me to the here and now, as though I had a purpose, a destination.

Traffic moved in synchronicity left to right, right to left, across the bridge, headlights and taillights, red and white, merging into bloodied streaks. I paused to watch.

Then moved on, as though I could continue.

***

This is my 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. You can find other stories written in response to this week’s photo prompt here.

As time goes

Photo prompt: © Ayr/Gray

Aged 70, in her 53rd year of regret, Anna pledged to ‘preserve the past, ensure the future’. 

When the formerly top-secret temporal readjustment lens was stolen by the unscrupulous Shades of Time travel company, thousands of unhappy citizens began jumping back to relive the moments they wish they hadn’t, to quote the marketing.  

Time was unravelling, civilisation in chaos, as, brandishing Nikon lookalike cameras, they snapped then edited out regrettable, inconvenient or unprofitable moments in their lives, and thereby changed history.

Time Guardian Anna was tasked with patrolling a downtown hotspot. She knew the protocols: Do not intervene. Observe, document, report infringements.

But Anna had an ulterior motive. In that very same hotspot, at an age when nobody should be permitted to make life-impacting decisions, she’d dumped the love of her life. 

Concealed behind a square of special time-spanning flexiglass, she observed herself and her darling Trevor sharing their usual Friday night table, both young, his eyes full of love and hope for the future, hers brimming as she uttered words that would send hope crashing into splinters.

Overcome, with flagrant disregard for the preservation of history, Anna leapt through the permeable surface. “Don’t say it, you fool. You’ll regret it forever!”

Instantly Anna, having broken Protocol 1, was sucked back into the flexiglass and imprisoned, condemned to watch, as Trevor returned alone to their favourite table each Friday; as he stared, with ageing, haunted eyes, at the chair Anna had occupied, until the night he didn’t come at all.

***

This is my 250 word story for The Unicorn Challenge, hosted by Jenne Gray and C. E. Ayr.