If you cut down a tree you can see the rings of each layer of bark that was re-grown. There’s a story there if you look close enough. For Maddison Woods’ #FridayFictioneer challenge.
The branches hung low, barely touching the river’s surface. The bark was losing color, but it had a new purpose. L ❤ E was craved above the knot hole where the letters nested.
I know you didn’t do it. E
We can run soon, I’ve almost found us a place. L
We don’t have to hide anymore. The sheriff’s stopped looking. E
I’m coming for you. L
He would’ve killed my sister…I’m so sorry. I will always love you. E
The rope was cut; the body buried yesterday. The hanging tree rustled in the wind when she fell into the water.
FINALLY. I’m so glad I found a way to make this story work. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Please enjoy…
PS: Screw wordpress for ruining my beautiful formatting.
Rating: PG-13, for swearing and violence
4/26: Edits have been made to accommodate plot holes
Lincoln County Road
Quinn told me this story once and now I have to pass it on. She said it was the story of the night the last sunflowers bloomed. I couldn’t tell you for certain exactly what a sunflower is or even how much of the rest is true. You’ll just have to judge for yourself.
James sat on the steps of the white house shaking in his muddy uniform as the dawn approached. The old house had survived the first civil war and was barely making it through the second. The windows on the first floor were cracked, the tall sender columns were peeling and the fields were overgrown. The oak table in the living room that Granddaddy had built for Grandma was rotting. The house was not much to look at now with all its grandeur gone, not like in the summer harvest celebrations. The foyer used to be open to welcome everyone, and the chandelier above the main staircase lit the night with one hundred candles. The only visitor now was James and he couldn’t stop the tremors. The colors of the Delegates Uniform were fading, but it was the only outfit he had. His bare feet sunk into the dirt and he hung his head between his knees, trembling. His company was miles away and there wasn’t enough time for them to find him and bother with dragging him back. Read the rest of this entry
A Fibonacci sonnet, technically a short story.
‘When’ didn’t matter.
The words were there, magic.
A love letter written on her arm appeared.
The calligraphy was near illegible; smudged on her pale skin in blue ink.
Soon it would wash away down in the hospital’s shower drain with soap and disappear, almost gone except the message stayed behind.
The letter was for her eyes only, “you’ll forget me but remember love.”
The words were precise-came just in time.
The surgery was tomorrow afternoon.
Memories can vanish.
constrictive criticism always appreciated
From the start, the dance was off tempo and their footsteps did not the match. It was inconsequential in the grand scheme, he was holding her and she was holding him. They matched footsteps, doing their best to carry on the cross step waltz. One, two, three, and repeat. She twirled like a porcelain figurine for him, and he let her fall into his arms. Their shadows melted together on the dance floor in the pale light. It would have been beautiful if it were not a lie. Read the rest of this entry
For #TuesdayTales, and their challenge word euphoria.
The wanted poster got enough attention just by the featured portrait; long gold hair, blue eyes, pursed lips, and eyebrows raised. When onlookers stopped gaping at her picture they saw the bold letters: NOTORIOUS OUTLAW WANTED followed by REWARD 2,000 DOLLARS. That was nearly two months wages on this backwater planet- a fortune good enough to stay out of the genetics field and euphoria mines for a time. She had gone to great pains to make the poster look nothing like herself. Her dirty blonde hair whisked behind her as she ran down the beach, laughing, towards the escape ship.