Last week’s, I want you to use your choice of lines as your prompt. They can be the ending lines of your favorite book, or a favorite poem…whichever moved you the most. You may begin your work with the lines, or simply use them as inspiration.
Not having a favourite book, I went out from where I’m sitting at home into a room with several thousand books, and grabbed one from a bottom shelf, Trapped in Ice by Eric Walters. Interestingly enough, the book starts as it also ends with the same six words. The same six words which also now start tale I’ve written below. Small edit for the first prompt, it is seven words from the last line in the book, had to add through.
This week’s, I snapped this pic for Instagram… I want you to tell me his story. By the way, his name is John.
Finding a story within an image, one look, and then a few more to explore the textures found, and the presence of the subject to discover a past and a future, what the moment might share in its whisper. Happy reading, with its mistakes and errors.
The carriage travelled slowly through the streets (Trapped in Ice by Eric Walters) while we sat here, John recalls a few small words from a wise young lady he’d met many decades ago. The young lady said, “We come into this world with few expectations, other than to love, and be loved, from the start of our story to the final few pages, everything else that happens to us, simply becomes the collateral to living life.
“Lad, I’ve taken those words where ever I’ve travelled in this world, the many miles across oceans, land, and seas, even up some of the highest mountains in world. Though of late, I travel a little slower these days now, not as many places. But I still remember those few words from a girl named Leah Banks, my first love, the love of a woman.”
John pauses for a moment, as a small tear runs from the corner of his eye down his cheek.
“But with in a few days of having met, just a few miles north of here, I watched as a twister took her from my hands, she disappeared from sight into the rage of the dark storm’s brew. Leah was never seen or found after that day. After a few weeks, I walked away from here, swearing never to return, but now I’m here once again. For it’s been forty long years since I’d set foot on this ffertile soil, to walk the streets and roads of the district once more. But after today, I think it’s time to move on once again, to start making my way down to patagonia, it’ll be a slow walk, and summer in the south is always a good experience.”
As last band at the tail end of the parade passes, John stands to his feet.
“Well lad, it been good to chat with you, but I best be off now,South America awaits, as do the many miles to get there.”
John grabs his pack from where he’d stashed it in a closed shops doorway, and slings it on to his back. He turns to me and as he smiles he shakes my hand, to then turn once again and depart.