Tag Archives: Dens

Friday Fiction – Childhood Dreams

Fans of the old, dark, miserable Elmo, will be delighted to hear that today’s piece returns to form. Hopefully subtly enough not to upset any younger readers, but if you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security by happier posts, consider this a warning of “Adult Themes” and also “Some Readers May Find This Distressing”. Feel free to come back another time if you prefer not to read on.

As ever, I welcome feedback – good and bad. At which point I’d like to thank those who stopped by yesterday’s pitch slam – if you didn’t get chance, check out the link in my post yesterday (https://elmowrites.wordpress.com/2012/03/29/pitch-perfect/).

Thanks again to Madison for the prompt, you can find her story, and links to the others, at http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/old-truck-100-words/

Childhood Dreams

When Annie found the abandoned truck, she thought it would be a good place to hide: away from her brothers, and her father’s grimy hands. She knelt behind the wheel and pretended she could drive away from this town. But then Daddy found her there, and the truck became as grimy as his hands.

Twelve years later, her sons found the truck, barely touched by time. They took turns to sit at the wheel and imagine driving away. After dusk, they told each other ghost stories, and pretended they heard heavy breathing, screaming, and saw shapes moving in the darkness.

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Friday Fictioneers #16

Thanks to Madison Woods for another intriguing photo. You can see her site and the other Fictioneers’ responses here: http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/cellar-walls-100-words/

I wanted to do something with that strange shape above the entrance, but I got carried away with the story I was writing and never had space to fit it in. It looks like a baseball mitt? Or a musical instrument? Or a bit of tree? I’m sure my MC would have plenty to say about it, but I only gave him 100 words and he never got there. Here’s what he did say. (Please feel very welcome to leave comments and criticism, I’d love to hear from you, good or bad.)

Going Back

Crawling into the old cellar is like travelling back in time. I remember blistering summers, baking beneath the tin roof and icy winters, the wind stabbing us through the walls. Everything’s magnified by memory, including the space itself. Four boys could comfortably sit playing cards and drinking beer snatched from our fathers’ cupboards, and planning our escape from our parents’ world.

Now, the cellar is only a few feet from the back door of the house. Now, my mother could have seen us from the kitchen window. Now, it’s barely big enough to hold four boys, let alone their dreams.

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