The exercise:
Write about: a giant.
Holiday Monday for me and the boys but Kat had a full work day, so this afternoon I took Max and Miles to check out Giant's Head Park in Summerland.
It's a spot we've been wanting to hike for a long time and we'll definitely be coming back with Kat. We didn't make it to the top, and the wind certainly made things interesting at points, but the views we did see were spectacular and there are multiple routes to explore.
3 comments:
That sounds like a fun day out, even if it also sounds like the boys almost got blown away at some point and you were worried that Kat would count the children when you returned and ask you why there were fewer than when you started ;-)
Giant
Stendall's boots hissed and splashed as they squeezed the water against the plasticrete and it jetted in tiny arcs to either side. He didn't know -- didn't want to know -- what he was running from, and he quickly realised that Cotelleta was faster than him. Despite her appearance of boredom and casual disinterest in everything she was swift as a hare and leaving him behind.
She reached the end of the walkway and jinked left and Stendall put his head down and concentrated on his breathing, speeding up as much as he could and only lifting his head as he reached the end of the walkway to look for her. She was still there, maybe not quite so far ahead, and he turned, head down again, to follow her some more.
Something thudded behind him and he didn't turn round. It didn't sound like a footstep, it sounded like something had been thrown at him and not reached him. And he tried very hard not to think that it might have been something giant jumping after him.
Cotelleta darted right, maybe into a doorway, maybe into an alleyway, but he was now only ten or twelve metres behind her so he kept his head up and veered right to shorten the time to wherever they were going. Something thumped behind him again and the thought of giants gave him just a little more impetus so he arrived just in time to see a door closing; that must be where Cotelleta had gone. He leapt forward and grabbed at it, just managing to get his fingers into the nearly-vanished gap between the door and the frame. They were pinched tightly, the door was heavy, and he swore even as he pulled backwards. One hand slipped but the fingers of the other found a grip on some rough fabric fastened to the other side of the door and the door opened a little further, enough for him to fit his now-free hand into the gap and pull it open enough to squeeze himself through.
The weight of the door pushed him deeper inside into darkness and the door clicked shut and he realised that Cotelleta must have opened the door all the way. Giving him a chance to get inside, he thought.
Inside what? was his next thought.
The air was moist and warm, not an unpleasant change from being outside but it put him in mind of a steam-room. There was light, but it was faint and his eyes were still adjusting to it, so he was sure he was in a corridor and there were pipes lining the walls, but that was all he could make out. He stepped forward hesitantly and his foot missed the floor completely and he plunged forwards.
The stairs he'd fallen down proved to be a short flight to a landing, and as he picked himself up and squinted forwards he saw that the stairs continued down, broken at regular intervals by these small landings. His groping hand found a hand-rail at the side, just below the pipes, and he started down them carefully, feeling sharp pains from his wrists and knees where he'd knocked them and trying to ignore them. The pipes above the hand-rail were hot enough that he could feel the heat radiating from them and he wondered what they were carrying.
At the bottom of the stairs the corridor continued a short way to a junction where there was a overhead light fitting wrapped in a sturdy-looking metal cage. There was a faint smell of cooked chicken in the air that made him hungry -- most meat in the base levels of Lindower came from the wastes and either didn't have a name or wasn't a name you wanted to hear when you were eating. Chicken was the preserve of the farm levels half a kilometre up.
He edged forwards towards the light, uncertain of himself and his hand still patting the wall and hoping for another handrail. As he reached the junction, a crossroads of sorts, a voice to his left said, "stop right there and tell us who you are."
He froze.
Greg - you can be... remarkably perceptible sometimes.
Woo hoo, you did continue it! How delightful :D
This is so good, in case you hadn't gathered my opinion on it already. What a treat to find this story as I make my way through the (yet again) massive backlog of comments!
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