Interwoven – (not quite) Trifecta Week 88

Below would have been my offering for week 88′s Trifecta challenge word, which is ‘band’ except I didn’t use it as a verb – whoops! Too much rushing, not enough time and reading on a smartphone! As you will see from the relevant blog post, the challenge is to write between 33 and 333 words of fiction, non-fiction, poetry or prose, based on the 3rd definition from the Merriam Webster’s Online Dictionary. This week the 3rd definition of ‘band’ is:

– to gather together: unite <banded themselves together for protection>

Here’s my offering below – I hope you like it! Please check here for the other entries!

I’m going to leave this piece as it is though, since it means a lot to me.

*****

– Interwoven –

The sisters stood, arms slung around one another’s waists, motionless in the soporific heat of the summer dusk.

They had done it. They had reached the end of a day which at its start, none of them had secretly thought they would achieve – not without falling by the wayside, not without splintering with exhaustion and despair.

In the middle of the triumvirate stood the eldest, uniting them all. Battered by the implosion that had threatened to shred them all to pieces, she felt old, so very old, as the sun drowned itself in the evening sky. She knew that grey hairs had silvered her dark mop in the past few weeks, that new lines had etched her once-smooth forehead.

Badges of honour, she thought.

Despite everything, despite the tearing at their flesh as they had said their goodbyes, she felt a tiny glint of happiness deep in her chest. She had regained her sister after all these years. She had found a bond with a step-sister she had hardly known, not until recent weeks.

She imagined a band of bright steel, sparkling in the now violet gloom, linking the three of them together. Their separate pasts had made them who they are. Their united futures would honour the man they had each loved in their own, unique ways.

She raised her eyes to the stars above, grasping the lifeline of her sisters a little closer.

Thank you, Dad.

Trifecta

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On Top of the World – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

18-07-july-28th-2013

– On Top of the World –

I stand on the swaying platform. The wind is scratching at my cheeks, clawing tears from my eyes. For a second, I remember a hiking trip in the Cambrian mountains…

My heart jumps in my chest with fear and laughter as I slip-slide backwards, my feet losing their grip on the scree skittering far below. The echoes of our joy career all around as you and I collapse safely at the top, lungs burning, chests heaving with the effort. Life is rainbow-hued.

Now, everything is fear. I inch forward to the edge of the platform, scanning the seas as they boil below. I see the top of The Shard cutting through the oily waves, and the summit of Heron Tower in the distance. London is gone. You are lost to me, flotsam and jetsam – somewhere.

I steel myself, zip up my diving gear, check my oxygen tanks and mask. The time has come.

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For non-Londoners, and non-Brits, here is information on The Shard and Heron Tower

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Absorbed – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below.  Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

GEDSC DIGITAL CAMERA

– Absorbed –

We were never quite sure what Great Aunty’s religious beliefs were, whilst she was alive. She always kept that kind of information, plus anything else she considered to be personal (including her clothing size), very close to her chest.

We all went to her with our problems – we knew we could trust her, without question.

I did worry that she might have committed all of our angst to a lifetime’s worth of diaries. Thankfully, this wasn’t the case. The only handwritten books in her rambling house were those containing shopping lists. It’s odd, isn’t it, what we keep?

The ancient idol was a relic from a Pacific Island religion that is now nearly dormant. The idol would absorb everything that was spoken in its presence, so that when you passed over, you would die ‘clean’.

Thank you, Great Aunty. I’ve been a very bad woman during my life and confessed everything to you. It’s nice to think that I will be clean as well.