This week’s prompt is a photo from Lora Mitchell. My story is below.
Exiting the board room at 6:03, she rushed to her office. The light out, she walked to her window, now gently bathed in a light shower. Aaaahhhh! Tension instantly drained away as she feasted on her favorite view — her city — alive, gorgeous, teeming with energy and renewal. It was in her heartbeat.
Brent couldn’t comprehend. Always a country boy, he insisted Kate could be happy in his world. Since his proposal, a new plant arrived daily — pressing her. Today’s lily blocked her view. Tossing it into the receptacle, she leaned against the window — happy.
Odd … the fence so freshly painted. The barn still bore silent scars from enemy troops scouring the countryside of its rightful owners and leaving all to ruin. A few lucky farmers had fled, losing all they’d worked for.
But before … before death and destruction … she and Johann had walked the length of this fence daily … stopping for kisses … planning: marriage, children, living beside this fence.
The night of the soldiers Johann had forced her to run while he covered her, and she’d seen them capture him.
20 years gone and she’d come back to remember. If only Johann were ….
This week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt is a photo by David Stewart of a statue in his home city in Korea. My response turned out to be a love story — maybe because my focus this week is on Valentine’s Day. Here’s David’s photo, followed by my take on the challenge.
A Royal Love Story
Once upon a time, a starving sculptor fell hopelessly in love with Princess Kameko.
“He will have to create a great statue for the courtyard of my palace, and prove himself worthy of you,” the king said to Kameko. “It must exhibit his love for you in such unusual manner that people from many lands will travel to see it.”
The artist thought – agonized – for days, finally presenting himself to the king with tools in hand.
Three days later, the royal city gathered in the courtyard and gasped with pleasure at the unveiling of the oblique statue: Falling In Love.
This Friday’s challenge is here in the form of a photo from Rich Voza
BUT NOT ALWAYS
He was Cherokee, she Scottish-American. But the moment they met in the airport coffee shop, they were connected. Waiting out the fog, they talked like old friends. When her plane was called, he carried her bag to her boarding gate.
A question in her eyes, she said, “Wow, Chicago and Dallas – talk about two people going in opposite directions.”
Light flared in his eyes. She didn’t want this to end either. He traced one gentle finger down her cheek.
“Opposite today … but not always, I think.”
The light in her eyes leaped to his, just as the boarding line began moving.
His next words a promise: “I will see you again, Joy.”
Well, I am waaaaaaay out in left field on this week’s challenge. It was fun getting here, but I don’t have enough words to get back. This piece is definitely “stream of consciousness” writing.
Here’s the photo prompt that Rochelle gave us — courtesy of Claire Fuller, who created the sculpture and took the photo.
AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING
“Well, now, let’s have a look at this piece that has you so distressed, Maryann,” said Professor Rousseau, lifting the scarf that covered his student’s newest sculpture. His gasp of pleasure was audible. Then for several minutes, he stood silent. Finally he spoke, never taking his eyes from the work.
“Tell me again what you told me on the phone.”
“I … I sculpted the man’s head yesterday. I could feel it wasn’t finished, but I couldn’t seem to do anything else with it. So I went to bed. This morning, when I went into the studio to take another look at it … the woman’s head was there as well … and his hand on her head protectively … as you can see.”
The Professor smiled. “Aaahh, yes. I can see that the words of the Original Artist still hold true: “It is not good for man to be alone.”
Well, Friday Fictioneers is rapidly becoming a habit. There are such wonderful writers out there who take part in this challenge. It’s an honor to be able to work with them on the same material each week, and it’s a privilege to see how wide and far-reaching the creativity can be when so many talented people look at the same photograph and set their imaginations free.
I wanted to join in with the other Friday Fictioneer participants this week, but I have to admit that my contribution is ‘illegal’ — being closer to 180 words. However, since this is the little story that kept nagging at me from the very first moment I saw the picture below, I have written it anyway and edited it down as far as possible in the time I had available.
The challenge is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to take part, hop over to see her at this link:
They’d met at a rehearsal in this very theater. He, with his polished coat of dark walnut, was instantly captivated by her honey-maple coloring – but even more so by the sweet voice she gave to every note assigned her in the performances. Bravely, he’d professed his love, and she’d responded. They had made exquisite music together for 74 years.
Now, with their respective masters in their graves, the two aging instruments rested against the wall of an old closet behind the stage. His coat was battered and marred significantly. But her luster still had the power to draw music from him every time he looked at her. They sighed quietly. They still had each other – and the music that lived within them. He kissed her gently. She kissed him back. They embraced.
Outside, people slowed their stride as they passed the old theater. “There it is again,” said one. Others nodded in agreement.
“Strange,” said a young woman. “Every night, I’m just sure I hear music coming from inside, but there is never anyone there ….”