Today’s impressive photo from Amy Reese put me in mind of a few things – the line from My Own Private Idaho about “I’ve been tasting roads my whole life…”; that bit in Scandal with Huck; and lastly the massive amount of storage we now use in the West. I’ve read some incredible stats about just how much space and money we dedicate to things we no longer want in our homes but can’t bring ourselves to get rid of. I’m minimalising at home right now, and the purge feels good even though the decisions aren’t always easy.
Ultimately, my story isn’t exactly about any of these things. I hope it makes sense – it was one of those that would have appreciated 200 words, but hopefully still works as it is. Your thoughts are very welcome.
Alice leaned on the box and taped it closed. Packing was always such a release. Tidy house, tidy mind, as Jack would say.
Steve arrived from Big Yellow and put it in his pick-up. “Alright, Mrs A?”
She smiled and waved. He was a nice boy was Steve; always polite. Make a nice husband for her daughter, she thought, if the girl would just smile.
“Where’s the cutlery gone, Mum?” Sarah asked that evening. “And my plates?”
“I’m decluttering,” said Alice, emerging from Sarah’s bedroom with a heavy bag. “You don’t want all this stuff kicking around when I’m gone.”
As I haven’t had chance to respond to this week’s Friday Fiction picture, I thought I’d share with you a second one from last week. It was actually my first response to the photo and falls firmly into the “inspiration, not illustration” category. I liked it too much not to share it, but I also liked Janine.
I’d love to hear what you think.
“Glad to see you, son. Couldn’t stand another minute of that clap-trap. Stinks being the only one really alive around here. Sharp as sausages, that lot.”
Andy had a soft spot for the Colonel’s grumbling; it made a change from the cheerful repetitions of many of the residents.
“Takes a certain sort of chap to engage with a mind like mine. They haven’t a clue. Might as well be addressing a wall as some of them.”
Andy pushed a cushion further down the old man’s crumbling spine as he walked past. The Colonel carried on his monologue to the rosebush.
Thanks to Madison Woods as usual for organising us – she’s been away recently, but I hope she’s back joining in with the writing part this week. Also thanks to Piya Singh for the gorgeous photo. I was right back in the UK with this one.
As ever, I’d love to hear what you think.
Grandpa used to bring me here and tell me about the giant who dragged this truck to market. It wasn’t a cottage then, but a giant’s cart, with huge wheels on either side. When the giant died, the hills grew up around the cart until only one wheel was left exposed. That’s why it’s at the wrong angle to the water. See?
Now the hills are growing up around Grandpa; leaving only memories exposed. I want to pass them on to you, so that you know how great he was, and don’t just see the ruins of a badly-designed watermill.