The exercise:
Write something about: twisting.
Looks like I jumped the gun yesterday, sorry about that. I'll definitely share tomorrow though. I don't mean to be all mysterious about this!
Another big harvest morning, as we picked for the restaurant and a local order of strawberries. I rewarded myself for all that hard work by sleeping most of the afternoon away.
Mine:
The wind gathers strength as it races across the meadow, barreling toward the forest without fear of the coming impact against bark and leaf. It carries with it the scent of wildflowers and rain and something somber, something more foul.
As it nears the trees it seems to slow, as though hesitant to enter the darkness of the woods. But there is no stopping, no going back. There is only onward.
And so the air flows between branches and over roots, through leaves and bushes. It brushes reluctantly up against clothing and skin, setting the hanging bodies to twisting this way and that.
5 comments:
Another day to wait? You're being mean! Though I'm tempted to follow Summerfield's lead and start guessing: you're not having one baby, you're having three? How many do you need to start your own hockey team? ;-)
I love the questions raised by your writing today: what kind of people hang so many folk that they need an entire wood as a gallows? It's a shame I haven't got time to write a proper answer :)
Twisting
Bertram paused from twisting together lengths of hempen string. Rope-makers were much in demand as the bodies in the woods didn't rot fast enough to make the nooses all that re-usable, and he was certainly glad of the work, but it made his fingers ache.
There was the sound of the door opening, so he took the opportunity to stand up, stretching and cracking his back, and stepped out into the front room, his 'shop' for want of another word. The leader of the town council was stood there, taking his hat off.
"There's more," he said without preamble. "We're shortening the nooses, but we still need two hundred yards of rope by Saturday."
Bertram's fingers instantly started aching more noticeably, but he nodded anyway.
"I can do that," he said. "Are you sure it's right though? They do say they're refugees...."
Bone dry, tan sponge held aloft, Tom spoke to this yoga students.
“Zis is zour liver...”
A few giggled at his horrible fake German accent, as he dipped the ‘liver’ into a bowl of clear water.
“And zis,” he pulled it out, “iz zour liver on yoga.”
Gasps ran around the room as his twisting of the sponge released red water into the bowl.
Tom grinned at the class, continuing his explanation of the twist module and how it helped the body rid itself of toxins.
Beating out the guest appearance of Bones, the skeleton, for “Remember the Hyoid!”, this was Cathryn’s favorite module introduction. And inspiration for her water to wine demonstration in Sunday school.
True Story :}
It was an unusually hot and humid day in Aurora, Nebraska. I entered the school bus, took a window seat near the front and waited for the driver to start his long route towards home. Looking out of the window I watched as the clouds darkened and swirled, twisting and turning in waves of various shades of grey and black. Then the rain came, light at first, and only minutes later in huge bulbous drops that pelted the windshield. Not long after, hail began to fall, starting as tiny chips of ice and quickly becoming golf ball sized chunks that were banging hard against the metal roof.
Stop after stop, parents hurried their children away from the bus and into waiting vehicles, each of them determined to make it to safety before the severe weather hit. Lightning cracked again and again, frightening the remaining children who shrank away from their illuminated windows. Mr. Gerald, the bus driver, was doing his best to reassure us that it was better to continue the route than to return to the school. Looking back on it now I guess he knew we’d never have made it in time.
I'm back home, but my mind is filled with Spanish so writing in English is oddly difficult. My story shows that I am not quite all here. It is very anticlimactic.
----
My body slumped against the door, a mixture of oppressive heat and the swaying narrow road rooting me to the spot. “Are you okay?” he asked. I glanced over and offered a weak smile before turning back to the breeze that whistled through the window. It was hot, but at least it was fresh. I felt his fingers brush lightly over my arm. “Just a little while longer.” I heard the worry in his voice and wondered if he was more concerned about my well-being or the cleanliness of the vehicle.
The road continued to twist its way up the side of the mountain. The heat began to relent and I started to feel human again. The breeze had become cool. Shifting my posture and my attention toward Johnny, I smiled. “Hey,” he said, sending another smile, but quickly diverting his attention to the road. I could see over the cliffs and thought that perhaps I should look back to the rocky walls that seemed to press ever closer to my window.
“Hey,” I replied. He was so cute. I wanted him to like me. The only thing I had going for me was that I was guaranteed to share the front seat with him. Of course, that was just to give me a fighting chance of not throwing up. I felt the road twist from the left and then quickly back to the right. I turned away and back to the bland rock wall. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I decided that I would have to be happy with not getting sick.
Greg - good lord, no. In fact I told Kat on Tuesday, 'Now we know for sure we're not having twins!' And there was much relief.
It is an intriguing question, and that is the start of a worthy answer, it seems to me. Perhaps one of us will explore it further at some point.
Cathryn - hah, that sounds like a fun yoga instructor. And I'm quite familiar with the benefits of twists, thanks to Kat's yoga teacher training.
Morrigan - great take on the prompt, love the descriptions and imagery. Still want to read what comes next though :)
Heather - hah, I can imagine what that's like. Good to see you practicing!
I think it's a great little vignette, though I see your point about the ending. But that just means you can extend the scene until a conclusion you're satisfied with presents itself :D
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