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Friday Fictioneers – Winter

13 March, 2015

Wednesday, they say, is Hump Day. Halfway through the working week, it’s all downhill to Friday night after that. But to me, and several billion others around the world, Wednesday is Prompt Day. Rochelle sends us all a pic, and we have until Friday(ish) to produce 100 words of fiction.

Just in case your email has been down and you didn’t get the pic, here it is:

frost-on-a-stump-sandra-crook

And just in case you want to read my 100 words, here they are:

 

He reached the river – the edge of the grounds. Again, no footprints. Nobody had passed here today, this week, this month. The dusting of white across the fields, in the trees, on the stump of the once-proud tree burned last year for warmth, echoed childhood winter days of frost crunching beneath numbing feet, of clouding breaths billowing.

The nostalgia brought a tear and instinctively he lifted a hand to dry it, forgetting for a moment the glass visor of his protective suit.

He turned to trudge back to the safety of the shelter, following his own bootprints through the ash.

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12 Comments
  1. Very descriptive, especially the tear.

  2. That was excellent! Sad ending though.

  3. If it was really burnt for warmth, I’m in. I love the guy in the recliner. Makes me think of Cole Porter for some reason. Go figure. Susannah

  4. The way you’ve written this, your story has a breathless quality that really works. Kudos.

  5. I like that way you turned the dusting of white into ash rather than the expected frost.

    janet

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