This week’s FF picture (courtesy of Kent Bonham) reminded me of something else. In case it doesn’t have the same effect on you, another picture follows the story. Thanks, as ever to Rochelle for hosting us all; you can find many other stories through her site.
That summer, we built a ramp. Dad found some wood in the shed and I helped him saw and screw, sand and stain it, then we ceremoniously lowered it into the corner of the pond and banged a couple of nails in to keep it steady.
I used to imagine elves and fairies using it as a slide, covered with ice in winter. But nothing could remove the image from my mind: Mrs Tiggywinkle floating face down among the marsh marigolds. I obviously wasn’t the only one. Three years later, Dad filled the pond and planted wildflowers over her grave.
Today’s picture comes from Lura Helms, through Madison Woods’ friday fiction page. As ever, if you’d like to read the other stories, go to Madison’s site. Mine is below. Not an easy one this week – the picture didn’t say anything to me for a while and then what it did say is nothing like what I eventually wrote. The Muse is clearly feeling capricious! Anyway, I’d love to receive your comments, good and bad.
Alice felt Liam’s hand on her bra. She didn’t dare look down, but she couldn’t look at his face either. She wanted so much to enjoy this, but she’d heard too many stories about how easy – and how terrible – it was to get pregnant. Her gaze flicked away to the forest that was keeping them safe from prying eyes.
But God could see them.
As Liam’s fingers touched her skin, she screamed. High in one of the trees, a single eye stared out of a sheep’s bleached skull. The animal was dead, but the eye watched – omniscient, eternal and judgmental.
Thanks to Madison Woods (http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/desolation/) and Doug McIlroy (http://ironwoodwind.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/poliahu-at-dawn/) for today’s prompt. I hope you enjoy the story it invoked for me. As ever, let me know what you think.
And if you happen to be in Toronto this evening, come see me at the Moosemeat Chapbook launch party:
There was a mountain, nestled between the bigger ones, that was flat on top: even slightly dipped, as if God had taken the peak with a great ice cream scoop to make Himself a sundae.
My parents were busy arguing about whether we were going to make it to the airport in time, but I just kept staring at the mountain and wondering. If God would do that to the landscape, what would He do to the little girl who peed in His beautiful sea yesterday?
I stared until the mountain disappeared from sight, silently promising never to be bad again.