Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 44
This weeks photo was taken by Mark Pillsbury, of the famous Serendipity Inn in Rodanthe, North Carolina. It was used in the film Nights at Rodanthe, with Richard Gere & Diane Lane. And you can learn more about how it ended up abandoned here. This photo was taken back in 2008 but in 2009/2010 it was rescued and moved and can now be rented out!
I ummed and arhhed over an original idea for this story, and then a voice arrived and a point of view, and I let him tell his tale.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
Fake News
I was having none of it. They were talking rubbish. The sea wasn’t about to rise and take over the land, what nonsense! It was a ploy to get my house. They all wanted it; it was in a fabulous location, right along the sea front, fantastic views. And land round here was at a premium.
I wasn’t stupid; I’d snatched this up the second it came on the market. I’d had the money back then, made it big in some start up companies that had rocked the world. They’ve fallen since, as many have in that industry, but I managed to sell up and get out while the going was good. But this place has always been desirable, even been used in a movie. It has a real charm about it: traditional wooden beach house, several floors. They don’t make them like this anymore.
Anyway, people started saying that being by the sea wasn’t a good thing. Claimed something called climate change, that it was all going to get cold soon or something. I mean, people really believed it too: houses along the strip started going up for sale. Me? I wasn’t that foolish. Colder my arse, it was getting hotter, summers better than we’d ever known them. Sweltering. Even more reason to have a beach house. You always have a breeze, no matter what. And the balcony was perfect, shade all afternoon. I’d sit out there for hours.
I listened to the radio, heard the debate. Couldn’t decide whose opinion was real and whose wasn’t. People always want to go round saying the sky is falling in, that knee jerk fear reaction, I’ve seen it all over. Mostly it was to back a profit – keep the people in fear, keeps them buying, but with climate change I wasn’t sure of the motive, the whole thing sounded hokey. No one seemed to be able to prove diddly squat either side, seemed like a lot of speculation on both sides. I’m not one to back a pessimist – oh no. I’ll believe it when I see it. That’s what I said. And that’s what I did – I saw it.
It was subtle, tide lines got higher. Then there was talk of it being caused by a change at a beach further along, where they’d built some breakers. I was confident it would settle. It was only a couple of feet. But then the hurricane hit. It was a mother of a storm. I really did wonder if the house might get washed away that night, but she didn’t; she remained solid as ever.
But then another came, and another, and I began to read about how many of them politicians saying there was no such thing as climate change were backed by those profiting from it – Big Oil in particular. It was getting hard to tell which way was up, unless you looked out at the water, and I could see it with my own eyes.
And by that time I knew I wouldn’t find a buyer. I thought I was done for. And then Burton, my old friend from the billiard club, came up with an idea: “You got to winch her up, Jared, you’ve got to tie her up tight so that if she does work loose, she can’t slip out to sea.”
I thought he was crazy. What the hell would I winch it to? But he had a plan in mind, a stone building owned by a mutual friend across the highway, and it worked out pretty good. It felt safer at least, until the night her moorings came away.
It was a doozey of a squall, whipped up all of a sudden as they sometimes do, and I heard them break, lying in my bed, felt like the house was going to start flapping in the wind like a loose board, flick-flack back and forth. Thank heavens for Burton’s winch.
The next day we wasted no time in reeling her in. It took most of the day, but we pulled her right up, almost to the highway. But she couldn’t stay there. No planning permission. So then I had to find somewhere to resettle her. Never seen anything funnier than a house being transported on a flatbed; we had to close a few roads to get her through, but now she is safe and dry up on the hill, sporting seaviews. The only way you’re getting me out of here now is in a coffin.
I ummed and arhhed over an original idea for this story, and then a voice arrived and a point of view, and I let him tell his tale.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
Fake News
I was having none of it. They were talking rubbish. The sea wasn’t about to rise and take over the land, what nonsense! It was a ploy to get my house. They all wanted it; it was in a fabulous location, right along the sea front, fantastic views. And land round here was at a premium.
I wasn’t stupid; I’d snatched this up the second it came on the market. I’d had the money back then, made it big in some start up companies that had rocked the world. They’ve fallen since, as many have in that industry, but I managed to sell up and get out while the going was good. But this place has always been desirable, even been used in a movie. It has a real charm about it: traditional wooden beach house, several floors. They don’t make them like this anymore.
Anyway, people started saying that being by the sea wasn’t a good thing. Claimed something called climate change, that it was all going to get cold soon or something. I mean, people really believed it too: houses along the strip started going up for sale. Me? I wasn’t that foolish. Colder my arse, it was getting hotter, summers better than we’d ever known them. Sweltering. Even more reason to have a beach house. You always have a breeze, no matter what. And the balcony was perfect, shade all afternoon. I’d sit out there for hours.
I listened to the radio, heard the debate. Couldn’t decide whose opinion was real and whose wasn’t. People always want to go round saying the sky is falling in, that knee jerk fear reaction, I’ve seen it all over. Mostly it was to back a profit – keep the people in fear, keeps them buying, but with climate change I wasn’t sure of the motive, the whole thing sounded hokey. No one seemed to be able to prove diddly squat either side, seemed like a lot of speculation on both sides. I’m not one to back a pessimist – oh no. I’ll believe it when I see it. That’s what I said. And that’s what I did – I saw it.
It was subtle, tide lines got higher. Then there was talk of it being caused by a change at a beach further along, where they’d built some breakers. I was confident it would settle. It was only a couple of feet. But then the hurricane hit. It was a mother of a storm. I really did wonder if the house might get washed away that night, but she didn’t; she remained solid as ever.
But then another came, and another, and I began to read about how many of them politicians saying there was no such thing as climate change were backed by those profiting from it – Big Oil in particular. It was getting hard to tell which way was up, unless you looked out at the water, and I could see it with my own eyes.
And by that time I knew I wouldn’t find a buyer. I thought I was done for. And then Burton, my old friend from the billiard club, came up with an idea: “You got to winch her up, Jared, you’ve got to tie her up tight so that if she does work loose, she can’t slip out to sea.”
I thought he was crazy. What the hell would I winch it to? But he had a plan in mind, a stone building owned by a mutual friend across the highway, and it worked out pretty good. It felt safer at least, until the night her moorings came away.
It was a doozey of a squall, whipped up all of a sudden as they sometimes do, and I heard them break, lying in my bed, felt like the house was going to start flapping in the wind like a loose board, flick-flack back and forth. Thank heavens for Burton’s winch.
The next day we wasted no time in reeling her in. It took most of the day, but we pulled her right up, almost to the highway. But she couldn’t stay there. No planning permission. So then I had to find somewhere to resettle her. Never seen anything funnier than a house being transported on a flatbed; we had to close a few roads to get her through, but now she is safe and dry up on the hill, sporting seaviews. The only way you’re getting me out of here now is in a coffin.
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