Friday April 9th, 2010

The exercise:

Your four lines of prose on this sunny Friday shall be about: grass stains.

I took the day off today and I'm glad I did. I think three day work weeks have a lot to be said for them.

Mine:

"Bobby?" Her voice was the very definition of confused.

"Yes, Mama?"

"How on earth did you manage to get a grass stain on Lilly?" she asked, holding up the family's aging Maltese.

4 Comments:

Greg said...

Sorry this is a little late, I spent all of yesterday flying back to London. The flights were fine, and in fact both landed fifteen minutes early!

The only problem with three-day work weeks is that it's all too easy to get used to them....

Hehe, I love the first line of yours, and getting a grass stain on a dog is a pretty good achievement!

Grass Stains

The brightly coloured disc whizzed past him, just above his head, and he followed it instinctively. Ahead, someone leapt for it and missed, and he shimmied round them, deftly stepping over them as they fell to the warm summer grass. Leaping now himself, his body stretched out like a salmon leaping up-river to the spawning grounds, and, as he reached the peak of his jump, his finger just grabbed the edge of the frisbee.
He skidded the entire length of the end-zone, getting grass stains up both legs of his new white shorts, but it was worth it for the winning point in such a close match.

Marc said...

Glad to hear you made it back safe and sound :)

And a story after my own heart! You must have hacked my computer while I wasn't looking and found out that my first ultimate practice of the year is this Tuesday!

I particularly liked the salmon jumping bit :D

Monica Manning said...

I can hear the false innocent voice of my little brother saying "Yes, Mama?" It brought a knowing smile to my face.

Greg: I, too, liked the salmon analogy. Ultimate Frisbee fascinates me. I can throw and catch the disc, but the acrobatics of the game are well beyond my abilities.

Mine:

The guys at school were relentless, teasing him about the stains on his knees, though he tried night after night to wash them out. They made crass gestures as he walked by—thrusting motions with their hands at their mouths—often accompanied with obscene sucking noises. He kept his head high as he walked by them, his face carefully blank, void of emotion. They don’t understand, he whispered, as he knelt before the etched stone that marked his mother’s grave.

Marc said...

Monica - ah, you snuck one in on me! What a lovely surprise :)

Always a pleasure to read your writing. You conveyed the story and character very well in such a short space.