Start with a
story ending – your own, a famous one, one you’ve read recently. Then wave your
magic wand pen, and change it. What could have happened? No rules, no limits. After all, every ending is a new beginning. What happens now…and how does it “end?”
FROM EVERY CLOUD SOMETHING GOOD COMES OUT
ReplyDeleteThe reasons are quite obvious. She’s forgotten to put on her pants, only here no one cares. That is for the retired harbour controller who said:
“She forgot to put on her pants today.”
And that’s all what it takes. We know who “she” is.
She’s the woman who lives in the shed. During the summer she sells fresh strawberries to tourists, only we don’t buy them because we know that she hasn’t got a toilet and we know how she fertilizes her soil.
And “she?”
She stays on the island. She has a bicycle and a two wheeled carrier attached to it. Once somebody asked her why she’d come here and she’d said: “I was the secretary of the World Bank and I got scared.”
We believe her. She’s got the manners. What ever, she says:
“Good day to you. I’ll do my best. I do so every day.”
This is intriguing, Andrea. :)
DeleteThanks so much for writing to the prompt, today.
I'm wondering how much is fiction, and how much reality, for we know your best subject is that fabled isle that dominates your life.
ReplyDeleteI like it. It tells the story of many; those how watch this women and her eccentricity, and the woman who favors them with her presence and personal charm. We know that her charm saves her this place in life for none question her actions. They either accept and shake their heads or nod amiably and go on about their business.
It's wonderful, Andrea. I'd love to see an expanded version of this sometime. There is a wonderful story of survival (on the personal level) here.
Re: expanded version...Me, too! I already adore this character, and want to know more, Andrea! :)
DeleteHere's a quick offering, De.
ReplyDeleteThe Last Man Standing
Strains of Brahms floated on soft evening breezes. Chiffon billowed around bodies primed for dance while wallflowers sat on reserved chairs and kept company with lesser males. Sudden silence snapped all to attention.
A pair of world travelers had arrived; the panther, sleek, luxuriously groomed, wore on his arm a diva of long acquaintance, who reflected the light to his dark.
Breaths caught in tongue-clogged throats. Violin notes stuttered to a close.
A local bravo called insult. Panther smiled a terrifying threat. Diva levitated to the sidelines.
One heart shot ended the match for an inelegant imposter who couldn’t waltz.
Excellent, Claudette! Especially love:
Delete"Breaths caught in tongue-clogged throats. Violin notes stuttered to a close."
Wonderful!
Thanks, De. I appreciate it. I had no idea what I was going to write when I sat down. This sort of came out on its own. The ending was a total surprise to me until I typed it and decided that it was the twist that was needed.
ReplyDeleteThanks De and Claudette! It is fiction, though. She doesn't exist in real life - and sorry, there's no expanded version.
ReplyDeleteBy the way will anybody here help me get my stories edited before they appear here?
And Claudette, yes, what a wonderful image. I love the atmosphere of dance halls.
Andrea, I'm happy to read anything, anytime...just not in April. I can't seem to catch my breath this month. ;)
DeleteThanks, Andrea. Too bad you don't what to take that story further. It has great potential.
ReplyDelete