Writing Challenge - Day 2
To all who are reading this,
Today at work, I wrote today's prompt on a sticky note, and set it by the desktop computer that I use at my desk. Every so often, I would scribble a word on it, and hope that imagination would spark. The end result was that I used none of the ideas I had.
And here is the result.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 2. - ASH
The woods were usually quiet at this time of night. No children shrieked and splashed in mud filled puddles. No dogs barked and hurtled themselves through the bushes in pursuit of an illusive ball or stick. No love struck teens kissed against the trunks of trees, nor did they climb the branches, hoping that they would hold any weight that was applied to them.
Tonight, any wildlife that usually strides around the woods, or hunts their prey, hide themselves away. Two pairs of trainer clad feet crunch over dead leaves and snapped twigs. One pair is pink and black in colour. They are very trendy and show barely any signs of wear or tear. The other plain black pair is falling apart - the sole of the left hand shoe can almost talk.
The beams of the torches swing over the ground, illuminating the pathway before them. No words were spoken as they move. Leaves fill the fashionable turn-ups on both pairs of jeans, whilst the figures hunch their bodies in thick warm jackets.
"It's deep enough here, we can probably stop." Donna is in charge. She stops at the edge of a clearing, and crouches low, touching the ground gently with her fingertips. Her blonde hair falls in her face, and she flicks it away with a practiced turn of her head. "You won't have to dig far."
Katy follows suit. She drops the tattered army print messenger bag from her shoulder, opens the metallic catch, and takes out a small garden trowel. She had found it in the shed - it has been a long time since her mother has done any gardening and the faded green handle was encrusted with spider webs, dead flies, bits of sawdust and other such filth. She untangles the tool from the plastic carrier bag, and gets a good grip on the handle. She digs into the earth - it is soft, like digging a spoon into a bowl of ice-cream. It is not difficult work, yet with Donna's torch light flickering elsewhere in the night, it makes it hard going, and once or twice she almost catches her finger, with her own clumsiness.
"Stop," Donna says, and pulls a clear plastic red lighter from the pocket of her jacket. She has stolen this from the desk tidy of her older brother, but he will never know. It has been six months since his last cigarette, and since getting into university, his habits have changed completely. He has been busy studying and has barely come home. When he does, his backpack is bursting with library books and pages of handwritten notes. When he sleeps, he is dead to the world. When he is awake, he is like a walking zombie. He has changed before her eyes, and Donna feels as if she has lost him.
Other people have worse problems though.
"Okay, you know what to do."
Trying to stop the shakes that come thick and fast, Katy takes the small bundle of letters, photographs and ticket stubs from her bag. They are bound together with a thin red ribbon. She drops them into the hole that she has dug, making sure that enough of the paper sticks out of the top. Her fingers linger on them for one long minute, and she draws a deep rattling breath.
With a face like stone, Donna clicks the lighter into life, and draws it close to the bundle. Flames lick and catch the paper instantly, and within seconds the bundle is alight.
Memories, words, lost love - it all shrivels into a pile of ash. The acrid smell of burning fills Katy's nostrils, and she tries to fight back the tears that threaten to spill. She wants to snatch them back, repair them, save them in the bottom of her desk drawer, but the damage is done.
Using the trowel, Donna pokes at it, and once the flames are out and nothing remains, she piles the mud back on top. She wraps it back up and tucks it under her arm. Pulling her hood up like some sort of gang member, she stands. "Let's go," Donna says, and sets off back the way she came.
"Coming," Katy replies, but makes no move. She stays low to the ground, her eyes focusing on the small mud pile before her. She misses Robert like no tomorrow. The way he would comb her hair for her after she had been in the shower. The way he would hold her hand tight as they walked to and from school. The way he told her that he loved her...
Why did that car have to come speeding down the road? Why did Robert have to be crossing the road? Why did it happen?
But Donna says that Katy has to let him go. It has been three months since the funeral - since the moment that she said goodbye to the first boy she has ever loved. To think that this would be painless, Katy thinks, letting a tear roll down her face. Silly little fool.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
Today at work, I wrote today's prompt on a sticky note, and set it by the desktop computer that I use at my desk. Every so often, I would scribble a word on it, and hope that imagination would spark. The end result was that I used none of the ideas I had.
And here is the result.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 2. - ASH
The woods were usually quiet at this time of night. No children shrieked and splashed in mud filled puddles. No dogs barked and hurtled themselves through the bushes in pursuit of an illusive ball or stick. No love struck teens kissed against the trunks of trees, nor did they climb the branches, hoping that they would hold any weight that was applied to them.
Tonight, any wildlife that usually strides around the woods, or hunts their prey, hide themselves away. Two pairs of trainer clad feet crunch over dead leaves and snapped twigs. One pair is pink and black in colour. They are very trendy and show barely any signs of wear or tear. The other plain black pair is falling apart - the sole of the left hand shoe can almost talk.
The beams of the torches swing over the ground, illuminating the pathway before them. No words were spoken as they move. Leaves fill the fashionable turn-ups on both pairs of jeans, whilst the figures hunch their bodies in thick warm jackets.
"It's deep enough here, we can probably stop." Donna is in charge. She stops at the edge of a clearing, and crouches low, touching the ground gently with her fingertips. Her blonde hair falls in her face, and she flicks it away with a practiced turn of her head. "You won't have to dig far."
Katy follows suit. She drops the tattered army print messenger bag from her shoulder, opens the metallic catch, and takes out a small garden trowel. She had found it in the shed - it has been a long time since her mother has done any gardening and the faded green handle was encrusted with spider webs, dead flies, bits of sawdust and other such filth. She untangles the tool from the plastic carrier bag, and gets a good grip on the handle. She digs into the earth - it is soft, like digging a spoon into a bowl of ice-cream. It is not difficult work, yet with Donna's torch light flickering elsewhere in the night, it makes it hard going, and once or twice she almost catches her finger, with her own clumsiness.
"Stop," Donna says, and pulls a clear plastic red lighter from the pocket of her jacket. She has stolen this from the desk tidy of her older brother, but he will never know. It has been six months since his last cigarette, and since getting into university, his habits have changed completely. He has been busy studying and has barely come home. When he does, his backpack is bursting with library books and pages of handwritten notes. When he sleeps, he is dead to the world. When he is awake, he is like a walking zombie. He has changed before her eyes, and Donna feels as if she has lost him.
Other people have worse problems though.
"Okay, you know what to do."
Trying to stop the shakes that come thick and fast, Katy takes the small bundle of letters, photographs and ticket stubs from her bag. They are bound together with a thin red ribbon. She drops them into the hole that she has dug, making sure that enough of the paper sticks out of the top. Her fingers linger on them for one long minute, and she draws a deep rattling breath.
With a face like stone, Donna clicks the lighter into life, and draws it close to the bundle. Flames lick and catch the paper instantly, and within seconds the bundle is alight.
Memories, words, lost love - it all shrivels into a pile of ash. The acrid smell of burning fills Katy's nostrils, and she tries to fight back the tears that threaten to spill. She wants to snatch them back, repair them, save them in the bottom of her desk drawer, but the damage is done.
Using the trowel, Donna pokes at it, and once the flames are out and nothing remains, she piles the mud back on top. She wraps it back up and tucks it under her arm. Pulling her hood up like some sort of gang member, she stands. "Let's go," Donna says, and sets off back the way she came.
"Coming," Katy replies, but makes no move. She stays low to the ground, her eyes focusing on the small mud pile before her. She misses Robert like no tomorrow. The way he would comb her hair for her after she had been in the shower. The way he would hold her hand tight as they walked to and from school. The way he told her that he loved her...
Why did that car have to come speeding down the road? Why did Robert have to be crossing the road? Why did it happen?
But Donna says that Katy has to let him go. It has been three months since the funeral - since the moment that she said goodbye to the first boy she has ever loved. To think that this would be painless, Katy thinks, letting a tear roll down her face. Silly little fool.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
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