Friday February 18th, 2011

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: wrong turns.

Continuing the Jamaica story, we hopped in our rental car and left Negril behind. We were heading for Treasure Beach on the south coast and after several wrong turns and too many potholes, we stopped for a short rest at this pretty little spot:


After a few more wrong turns and a hell of a lot more potholes, we arrived at our guesthouse and wandered out back to find this:


Looking the other way:


It was a long, tiring drive, but the destination made it totally worth it. Speaking of the drive, here's the rental car, parked out front beneath bougainvilleas:


I think tomorrow I'll share some pictures from the boat trip we took along the coast and up Black River to see the crocodiles.

Oh, I've finally caught up with all the comments that were left while I was gone. So now I can get back to my usual routine of posting the day's prompt and then replying to the previous day's comments. Hurray!

Mine:

Henri stared at the brick wall standing in his way and sighed, the cigarette between his lips hanging on for dear life. The wall was not meant to be there, not according to the map his assistant had provided him with that morning before he left the office. As he pulled the cellphone from his breast pocket and flipped it open he didn't even entertain the possibility that he had made a wrong turn on his own. 

This was obviously his assistant's fault, and she was about to suffer the consequences.

4 Comments:

summerfield said...

marc, the pictures are incredible. i am jealous!

henri mustn't be so hard on the assistant; after all he's the one driving. hah!

-o0o-
wrong turns

They have come back to haunt her at last, those series of wrong turns she made in her life. She had the incredible knack for attracting emotionally deficient men, lovers with whom she held on for too long thinking that what she felt was love. Each time it felt the same and different simultaneously, a déja vu of crumpled emotions.

Staying in this hospice, lying in this narrow bed all alone, discarded by society, the past comes back like those bad reruns on TV.

Greg said...

@summerfield: I like the idea of a woman revisiting the wrong turns in her life as she reviews it, knowing she's dying. You've written it very well for so few lines; it's moving without being overly sentimental.

@marc: crocodiles? I'm looking forward to it already!
I remember potholes from when I was in Antigua. I'd say you were lucky to still have visible roads :)
That's another beautiful picture of Kat, and the beach looks wonderfully tranquil!
I rather like the detail of the cigarette in your story today, and I completely agree with Henri. It's the assistant's fault :)

Wrong turns
Vince watched the safe-cracker while Dave watched the video-surveillance monitors for any signs of movement. Neither of them were happy with what they were seeing.
"All I've got are wrong turns," sighed Dave as their colleagues picked yet another dead-end while they searched for the safe-room.
"Me too," agreed Vince as the safe-cracker's dial-spinning grew more desperate.

Lynn said...

marc - fabulous pictures. Bet it was hard to come home.

summerfield - I like your response. It would make me want to know more about her circumstances.

greg - good writing. Interesting how different the responses are.

Here's mine:
Wrong Turns
"You should have turned left instead of right back there," I said, as I watched the neighborhoods visibly deteriorate before my eyes.

"I know what I'm doing," he said, still confident, but as far as I could tell, moving in the wrong direction.

"Why don't we try the GPS?" I asked quietly.

"It's more fun this way," he replied.

"I don't want to get lost in this part of town," I said, my voice beginning to betray me.

"This is a shortcut," he said, the fun leaving his voice. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, I trust you, but I'm just not sure you're right this time." That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. I knew it the minute the words escaped my lips. His body language changed. He gripped the wheel like a race car driver; his chin set, his smile gone, his eyes narrowed. Now I knew no matter how lost we got he had to prove himself. We were never going to get there on time.

Marc said...

Summerfield - nicely done. I think your third line is my favorite of the bunch.

Greg - I will never grow tired of those two's antics :)

Lynn - actually, we were both ready to come home. It was a great trip, but we love the life we have here and we're looking forward to settling into it - no moving, no wedding, no renovations, just living.

Ah, men and asking for directions. Like oil and water :P