Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Sunday December 15th, 2019
The exercise: Write about: clutter. We're in the midst of ridding ourselves of as much clutter as possible ahead of the move. This was a generally successful weekend on that front.
Clutter-ridding is a good thing at time of year, and it's surprising, at least for me, how much stuff that is just sitting around turns out to be clutter when you take the time to look at it and ask yourself why it's there. Although, if you're living with anyone else you also start getting the arguments about what's clutter and what is something that they really want to keep for reasons that make no sense... :-D
Clutter It was a boat, a small wooden dinghy that would seat perhaps six people dangerously and three people in relative comfort. In the dark it was impossible to see how well maintained it was, or, as they discovered, the clutter of lobster pots on the floor of the boat and the mess of fishing line at the far end. Dave found himself seated in the middle of the boat, with the Ghost sat in front of him, facing him, and Tristram perched moodily at the back on the side of the boat. “Looks like you’re rowing,” said the Ghost pleasantly. “No oars,” said Tristram. “You don’t leave oars in a boat like this, that’s just encouraging arsonists to come and steal it.” The Ghost smiled pleasantly and spread his arms apart. “I give you… the gift of propulsion,” he said. Two oars, each tied around with a red ribbon in a bow, clattered into the boat, bouncing up and striking Dave’s knee. “How far is it?” said Dave, looking at the oars in undisguised worry. “Far enough that you’ll want to take your coat off,” said Tristram. * The Ghost’s oars proved to be significantly better than ordinary oars, and Dave found that the boat moved a lot faster across the water than it should have done – which was a definitely relief as he was breathing heavily after five minutes, and his shoulders were burning like the house they’d left behind them after twenty. He gave up after twenty-five minutes and Tristram, grumbling and angry, took over for another fifteen, at which point they had entered the mouth of the river Riot and more boats, and a single three-masted ship, were visible in the greying light of encroaching dawn. The Ghost gestured to the banks of the river and Tristram changed direction without complaint, which to Dave was a sure sign that he was just glad to be able to stop rowing, and they jostled to a stop in marshy water alongside a knot of trees. “Allhallows,” said the Ghost. “It stretches from here to the Roach River.” “Never heard of it,” said Tristram, who was tying the boat up to one of the trees. The thick rope was stiff with rime, and his breath puffed out into the chill morning air in white clouds. “Sacred land, once,” said the Ghost. “But if you look hard enough all land was sacred to someone at sometime. What matters is that it’s still remembered that this was sacred land once, and that there’s a deep connection to the Unreal City. This is where they’ve tried to hide me.” Tristram and Dave glanced at each other, and Dave pulled his coat back on. “You won’t be needing us anymore then,” said Tristram. “We’ll be off.” The Ghost smiled.
3 comments:
Clutter-ridding is a good thing at time of year, and it's surprising, at least for me, how much stuff that is just sitting around turns out to be clutter when you take the time to look at it and ask yourself why it's there. Although, if you're living with anyone else you also start getting the arguments about what's clutter and what is something that they really want to keep for reasons that make no sense... :-D
Clutter
It was a boat, a small wooden dinghy that would seat perhaps six people dangerously and three people in relative comfort. In the dark it was impossible to see how well maintained it was, or, as they discovered, the clutter of lobster pots on the floor of the boat and the mess of fishing line at the far end. Dave found himself seated in the middle of the boat, with the Ghost sat in front of him, facing him, and Tristram perched moodily at the back on the side of the boat.
“Looks like you’re rowing,” said the Ghost pleasantly.
“No oars,” said Tristram. “You don’t leave oars in a boat like this, that’s just encouraging arsonists to come and steal it.”
The Ghost smiled pleasantly and spread his arms apart. “I give you… the gift of propulsion,” he said. Two oars, each tied around with a red ribbon in a bow, clattered into the boat, bouncing up and striking Dave’s knee.
“How far is it?” said Dave, looking at the oars in undisguised worry.
“Far enough that you’ll want to take your coat off,” said Tristram.
*
The Ghost’s oars proved to be significantly better than ordinary oars, and Dave found that the boat moved a lot faster across the water than it should have done – which was a definitely relief as he was breathing heavily after five minutes, and his shoulders were burning like the house they’d left behind them after twenty. He gave up after twenty-five minutes and Tristram, grumbling and angry, took over for another fifteen, at which point they had entered the mouth of the river Riot and more boats, and a single three-masted ship, were visible in the greying light of encroaching dawn. The Ghost gestured to the banks of the river and Tristram changed direction without complaint, which to Dave was a sure sign that he was just glad to be able to stop rowing, and they jostled to a stop in marshy water alongside a knot of trees.
“Allhallows,” said the Ghost. “It stretches from here to the Roach River.”
“Never heard of it,” said Tristram, who was tying the boat up to one of the trees. The thick rope was stiff with rime, and his breath puffed out into the chill morning air in white clouds.
“Sacred land, once,” said the Ghost. “But if you look hard enough all land was sacred to someone at sometime. What matters is that it’s still remembered that this was sacred land once, and that there’s a deep connection to the Unreal City. This is where they’ve tried to hide me.”
Tristram and Dave glanced at each other, and Dave pulled his coat back on.
“You won’t be needing us anymore then,” said Tristram. “We’ll be off.”
The Ghost smiled.
Beware the clutter
It will take over
Your room, your house,
Your life.
Greg - I see you've met my kids then...
Heh, nice try Tris... but I suspect you shan't be getting away that easily.
Morganna - yes, exactly. Moving is a fine excuse to get things back to a manageable size.
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