Sunday, September 9, 2012

This Way

                                                         Photo credit: De Jackson

What’s this way?
If you explore the deepest, darkest (most magical?) corners of this forest, what will you find? Danger? Love? Answers?

Paint us a word picture of what you find there. Or ponder the word direction for awhile. Has your character found his/her way, or lost it?

Have your way with this prompt, and share it here. 


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. Sorry, I deleted it. It was not ready, sorry.

    1. No worries, Andrea. I understand that feeling. I was just coming over here to read it, though, so bring it back soon. ;)

  3. I walk and walk and walk. With somebody and alone. I reach a graffiti-stained bus shelter. Some angry words in Spanish, I gather. Bins stuffed. A strange place here in the middle of nowhere next to a highway. A brick house not overlooking the road. I like it because I’ll most likely be undisturbed. And I am for a while, until some heavy pilgrim bursts in here.
    He is just as surprised as I am to meet anybody in here, and he turns out to be the photo pilgrim from Leon. Here without clogs, but still in spandex pants.
    He is Jan.
    I like his short introduction. I know ‘all about him’ from Susan. He is her friend.
    So I am just Andrea.
    “Do you do Nordic walking?” he asks.
    “No, but I am from Denmark,” I reply.
    “No, no, no, your sticks.” He laughs.
    “Oh,” I say. “I have just bought these sticks in Leon. I don’t know what I am doing with them, but I am trying them out today. What possibilities are there?
    “Nordic,” he says. “They are for Nordic walking. You just bought them in Leon?”
    “Yes,” I say.
    “I bought these socks in Leon,” he tells me, “and you know what? I got these as well.” He shows me a pair of Nordic socks similar to my outer socks.
    “They are like mine,” I say, “and they were very expensive. Cool max.”
    “Cool max?” Jan says and laughs. “When I left the shop, I caught this pair with my straps on my rucksack. So I got an extra pair, I found out later.”
    “Good for you,” I say. “Socks come and socks go.”
    “Yes,” he says. “You know what?”
    And I don’t.
    “I have taken photos of my washing. I washed two pairs of socks and sent the photo to my wife, so she can see I do my laundry myself. That is the only thing I have washed.”
    “Oh,” I say. “That isn’t much.”
    “No,” he says, “and now I will have a photo of many socks for her.”
    “She’ll probably love those photos,” I say, beginning to realize what wonders mere socks can do.
    A slim, light-haired Jane Fonda dressed fitness woman rushes over to us and looks with desperation at us. She makes great efforts breathing and looks as if she, at any minute, could go into shock. With such lightness, both Jan and I catch her in the air and put her to rest on the bench, Jan holding up her head, and I her feet.
    I yell to her in both Danish and English: “Stop det,” and “stop it!” I put my sleeping bag under her feet, ready to turn her around to press some air out of her. Even slap her if necessary. Suddenly the shelter is crowded. French fitness women everywhere, speaking in French, which makes the patient cry—a good sign because she is breathing.
    Jan and I look at each other smiling. Our baby is born.
    Jan is so caring, and the French Jane Fonda pilgrim is suddenly ashamed.
    “It’s okay,” we say and nod. The party leaves.
    “Don’t you think I should teach you to walk?” Jan asks, meaning with the sticks.
    So around ten kilometers from Astorga, I learn to walk. Nordic walking.
    “Last time I taught a Dane,” Jan says, “she suddenly just walked away from me, and I haven’t seen her since.”
    I am not likely to do that, but when I turn around to hear Jan’s opinion, he is gone. He has somehow disappeared. I continue, but he doesn’t catch up.

  4. Oh, Andrea!
    I simply love this. What a quirky, gorgeous little slice of story.
    Your short sentences work so well for you here. I absolutely adore this line:
    “Socks come and socks go.”

    Such a rich character you have painted. Whether this is truth or fiction, or something in between, it is a true delight.

  5. I woke at the sound of the crackling of fire. I quickly got up. I shoook my head thinking This is a dream right? It can't be. But it was. There was a fire going. A blazing fire. I turned around and saw someone with dark clothing. "Who in the blazes are you?" I said with a dark edge to it.
    "Name's Austin. Found you knocked out. Must have been the bullet to the head. Luckily I found you minutes after you were shot."
    Once he said that I was shot a sharp pain in my head started throbbing. Everything came back. The robbery, Me out on the street, but I have no idea how I got here. Or where I am for that matter.
    "Where am I?" I said.
    "Well, the great outdoors." he said, being very animated with his hands.
    "I can't remember anything! Who exactly am I?" I could remember things, parts from my past, but they were just out of reach, as soon as I grab them, they pop like bubbles.
    "I have no idea. I just found you."
    "Are you lost?"
    "Then why are you here without out a map?"
    "Fine I am lost!"
    "How old am I?"
    "You look about 8 years old. Now stop asking questions, will you?"
    A few short minutes later, we arrived at some trees with strange marking. They had arrows neatly scrached into the sof bark. I tried to compute it in my mind, but everyhting just hurt like a flash flood.
    "Are you 8 years old, too?"
    "Yes, actually."
    I could sense danger easing its way into us, like a bear stalking us. He started his way down the path makrked with an arrow. I ran after him, grabbed his shirt and yelled, "No!"
    "Why?" He asked. I really think it would sound funny if I said that I could sence danger so I just shrugged.


    "I wish I didn't have to go!" I said to Austin later that day. I gave him a nice long hug.
    "I will miss you!"
    "Me too. At least you got reconized and found."
    "Yeah I guess."
    I borded the train to Chicago, but before that, I had an idea.
    "Daddy! Can Austin come with us? He has no home to say in! Pleeeaasse?"
    He thought for a few seconds and said, "Why not?"

    1. What a sweet ending, Abi. :)
      I like this story.
      I LOVE this:
      "as soon as I grab them, they pop like bubbles." The idea of pieces of yourself, memories of who you might be, popping like bubbles is just gorgeous, and sad. Thanks for writing for the prompt. I always so enjoying reading you!

    2. Thank you ever so much! You don't know how much that even means to me! I am hoping to get published in some form or way soon! Thank You De!

    3. Stay hungry for it, and keep writing, Abi, and you absolutely will.
      Read through your piece above for a few typos. I always read my stuff out loud, which really helps. :)

    4. Cool, thanks for th tip. I am always writing. At my school, you can publish stuff in magazines, and online! I told my English teacher about Flashy Fiction, and said she would check it out. I really hope she enjoys everbosy's writing on here, it is SO impressive.