The exercise:
Four lines of prose about: the yacht club.
We had a bit of rain here overnight but there's still some snow hanging around. Stubborn stuff.
Mine:
They gather by the water at the same time every week. Hot air and tall tales are shared while their crafts are prepared for launch.
But they never venture out onto the water themselves, always remaining safely on shore.
10 comments:
I rather like how snow lingers in odd places long after you think it should have gone :)
Heh, I also like your yacht club. It sounds much cheaper than the socialite version!
The yacht club
"What do you think?" asked Little-jim, staring at the dimpled white ball sitting on the edge of the fairway.
"I think you can't play golf," said Van Tosten, who was caddying for him. "You should be at least two hundred yards further on by now."
"Oh shut up," said Little-jim, "and hand me my yacht club."
Sorry for the absence, I've been under the weather. Couldn't seem to concentrate. Speaking of weather, they are calling for a storm here today, so far its plus three and overcast, but no rain or snow yet.
Yacht Club
Meg stands behind the door wearing her sailor suit and captain’s hat watching through the porthole shaped window as the room fills with people wearing similar clothing, similar in looks only, definitely not threadbare and shared between five others of the same size. Grabbing the tray from beside the door she turns once and gives James a rueful smile before plastering one of epic proportions onto her face. “Mr. Benson, it’s so nice to see you tonight,” she lies through her feigned smile. Benson is an octopus, his greased back hair stinks, his zipper is always undone, he is the worst letch she has ever met, but he tips better than anyone else in the room, she’s done worse things for the rent money.
It snowed here last night and the trees were all covered in white. But the temperature's risen and the spitting of snow from the sky does nothing to lesson the erosion of white from the ground.
@Marc - love your yacht club, Greg's comment sums it up.
@Greg - you know if he's got the money perhaps he should take lessons *giggles*
@writebite - oh dear, I don't think I want to know.
Yacht Club
White sails unfurled in the morning breeze as hands scramble about the decks.
Creaking and groaning the anchor chain hold the eager boats back.
At last the cannon fires and away fly the boats, swift as birds.
The annual Yacht club race, has begun!
They sailed ’round here, they sailed ’round there.
They said, “I’m gonna buy this; I’m gonna buy that,” but no, it never happened.
Some folk in the yacht club do it - they win medals for their efforts and make headlines with their inventions.
Most are wannabes, drunk on sauvignon blanc, mouths chewing oysters they can’t really afford, not my type of club at all.
Sad to have been absent but have been sorting through some important things:
Easily clearing the fence once more, Tom fled the yacht club slowly, the darkness of night hiding him from all it's bright lights which now clearly illuminated the red words he had graffitied on every side of the clubhouse.
As he walked in the silence, the initial thrill he had felt in this last strike against his father seemed hardly even a memory now and the familiar feelings of dread and foreboding reclaimed him.
What good would it do, after all, he would still be leaving for the cold, stark reality of Gilbert Academy in the morning, a million miles away from everything he had ever cared about, perhaps before anyone even made the call to 377 Sycamore.
For a brief moment, intense longing for his mother, not even dead 4 months now, rose and caught him but, with a sob, he shoved it roughly away and willed the hatred back, the only thing that would carry him the next 3 years.
“Ahoy there.” Travis said as he slowly pulled his pontoon boat along side five similar boats already moored together.
“Howdy” Brad shouted, straining to be heard over Craig Morgan’s latest hit. “Throw out your lines, I’ll rein you in and get ya tied up.”
With the boats finally joined together Travis crossed the deck and shook Brad’s hand, “Much obliged.” He said in a thick southern drawl.
To this Brad tipped his hat and with a huge smile on his face replied “Welcome to the Red Neck Yacht Club, there’s a row of kegs on John boy’s boat and Kevin’s got karaoke in the back. Come on let’s go get ourselves a beer.”
George climbed up through the hatch and took in the brilliant sunlight that shone off the scrubbed white surface of the fibreglass deck.
He scanned around him and eventually caught sight of Marjorie taking in the same sun out on her bowsprit, her bikini a blaze of green against the bright white of her vessel. George admired her from afar, even if she was a hundred meters away and perhaps eighty meters below his position.
Ever since the Tsunami, the yacht club members had to don their climbing gear and make the hazardous climb if they wanted to enjoy their vessels, perched as they were on the mountainsides.
Glad to have most of our consistent members (for jan and feb.) back. Ya'll try and stay healthy while your enduring all that snow and cold weather.
Greg - I'm trying to picture what a yacht club for golfing would look like. Having trouble not giggling.
Iron Bess - welcome back! :)
Ugh, fantastic description of Benson. Poor Meg.
Cathryn - I could picture that scene perfectly, nicely done.
Writebite - no, I must say it's not my sort of club either. Especially liked the oyster line.
H.N. - and a warm welcome back to you as well :)
You've definitely got me feeling for Tom. And wondering what it was, exactly, that he'd spray painted on the club :)
Krystin - the Red Neck Yacht Club, on the other hand, might be just my style :D
GZ - haha, the eighty meters thing had me confused for a moment. Very nicely executed.
Krystin (again) - me too :)
Grondzilla, that was just hilarious!! What drastically different images were painted in my head with every line! Awesome!
Post a Comment