Unreachable – Friday Fictioneers

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright - David Stewart

Copyright – David Stewart

– Unreachable –

I can’t reach you any more. You’re distant, your eyes aren’t with me. You look the same, but you’re no longer you.

I think about when we were small, and the world seemed so big. Even though it was just our back yard, the brambles and creepers were our jungle, our wilderness, our desert, our uncharted territories. We were mercenaries, vagabonds and pirates. We climbed the mainsail to the crow’s nest, shouted out ‘Land Ahoy!’ and hoisted a Jolly Roger high, so achingly, heart-stoppingly high, from the old oak tree above our heads.

I can’t reach you now. You just see a ladder, where I still see adventure. You’ve let the world crush you.

You’re gone.

__

Click the blue froggy to read other writers’ offerings – and enjoy!

Crude – Trifecta Week 84

Below is my offering for week 84′s challenge word, which is ‘crude’. 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 ‘crude’ is:

3.marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity <a crude stereotype>

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

*****

– Oversold –

“Are we absolutely certain that this is the best that they can offer? The rumours promised so much more.”

“I agree. The hype has really oversold… this…”

The two experts gaze at the artefacts in front of them. The archaeologist reminisces on the months of back-breaking work invested by him, not to mention his team. The artist attempts to bury the wild hopes and dreams he had harboured for aeons, all the while hearing his wife’s warning ringing in his ears: “Don’t get your hopes up, you’ll only be disappointed!”

“I tell you one thing, though,” he mutters to his colleague. “They knew how to market themselves. Talk about oversold!”

“Hmm.” The archaeologist straightens his shoulders, releasing pent up tension – a combination of the gathering excitement that had been building for what felt like a lifetime, and the remnants of months of travelling in cramped quarters. “Remember, their methods of communication were crude at best. No finesse, back then.”

“Much like their art, so it seems.”

The colleagues sigh in unison. The artist shakes his head. “We might as well go. There’s nothing for us here.”

“Yes. This place is of no use to us. Poor air, poor archaeology, poor art.”

“I’d better record the names of the pieces, for our files,” said the artist, making brief notes in his book. “I wonder who this woman was, ‘La Gioconda’?”

“No idea. Nor do I care. Her beauty is as sub-standard as their ‘art’.”

The colleagues pick up their tools, making their way back to their vehicle, now ready for launch. The return to Imakon Zandar II was going to be long and despondent. Planet Earth had been terribly, terribly disappointing.

Trifecta

Emergency Stop – Friday Fictioneers

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright Indira

Copyright Indira

– Emergency Stop –

This is where it happens, the moment that changes my life. This is where I step out – my old world stops.

That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention. Life’s carefully crafted plan disappears in a squeal of brakes and rubber.

I’m lucky. The bus driver sees me at the last second.

I’m watching as my old life turns to dust in the distance. I open the window, shove my briefcase out, closely followed by my tie, jacket and hand-tooled shoes. A one way ticket to the airport is crumpled and sweaty in my hand.

My new life start here.

Click the blue froggy to read other writers’ offerings – and enjoy!