Friday, September 7, 2012

Setting the Scene

Photo Credit Photobucket lostbhoy1979

Here is your setting. 
Give this place life. 
A breath, 
an aroma 
a lingering voice...

Have fun.

Happy Friday Flashy Fiction writers! 


  1. Grandy would have called her a haint. Eliza preferred the term "wanderer." It made her feel like she had a choice in the matter.

    She walked the top of the wall. It was so much easier to do when she was still a girl, before the ivy and the rain and time tumbled the bricks. If she wanted it bad enough, she could make enough spirit to waffle the leaves around a bit. It made her tired, though, so she saved it for days when the wind was dead still and either the very young or very old were about. They were more likely to sense her, probably as they were the closest of the living to the other side.

    She was still waiting, waiting for her Papa to come back with the doctor. He'd been gone ever so long. Grandy and Mama and Benji went on ahead without her. The fever took Mama first, and then Grandy. When Benji's time came, he just wandered off, like he knew where he bound off to. She should have asked him, but Papa told her not to go anywhere and that he'd be back soon, and he didn't brook any misbehavior, so even if he told her, it wouldn't be of use.

    So she'd ask the people that came to see what was left of the house, "Have you seen my Papa?" She'd get real close up, near like, so they could hear. They'd shiver, and she'd watch the hair on their arms rise in greeting. But they never did know. Eliza wold like to think they'd a told her if they did.

    Eliza heard the boy before she saw him, picking up stones in the courtyard and dropping them. He was older than Benji, but not much. His mother was a few feet away, one eye on her toddler, and the other on the markers. She shook her head, so sad, she said.

    Eliza came up and tapped the boy on the shoulder. "Have you seen my Papa?" The boy smelled of sleep and angels. He giggled.

    "What are you laughing at?" His mother asked, picking him up and smothering him with kisses. Eliza wanted the boys mama to pick her up too.

    He held out a fist, uncurled it and pointed at the gate. "Papa."

    "Papa isn't here, goose." The boy's mother pulled his hand to her lips and blew, and he laughed at the squawking sound she made.

    He held out his hand again. "Papa."

    She hadn't thought to leave the yard.

    "Bye bye," said the boy.

    "Thank you," said Eliza.

    The boy's mother shivered. Eliza ran as fast she could, brushing the ivy as she moved, making the leaves dance one last time. She could stand to be tired, it was time for her to rest.

    1. Wonderful, Jeannine!! Thank you for writing for Friday Flashy prompt!!