(10 am. – promoted by ek hornbeck)
The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense. ~Tom Clancy
I want to try something different today. And I should mention I will be here intermittently as I have some errands and adventures to attend to. (Did I mention I’m on vacation? 😉
Your RR challenge today, if you should decide to accept it, is to craft-write something from the prompts below. It can be a story or a poem or song lyrics or whatever. Or you can jumpstart a Round Robin with one, if you want (make sure you tell us if that’s what it is).
Shall we begin?
MUSICAL: Go to this link, then go to LISTEN, then listen to the tune labeled: Studio Works: Dizi Shaku Ney. Come up with a name for this song. Then work it into your Story.
PIC #1: “Windows”
PIC #2: “Found”
PIC 3# (OPTIONAL):
Ready?
Set?
GO!
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it’s me.
Gotta go – appts and stuff today – but here’s Van
She always listened to Bob Chadwick flute songs on the way to work. She’d pick me up in the rain, usually in the dark of morning, and I’d hold my coffee close to me and hope none of it spilled on the weird print upholstery with the eyes and loops which she had hand-sewn across the top of the dashboard. Usually I’d stare out the windows and make some comment about “dizzy nell” music, and she’d chuff at me once or twice and we’d talk about who was an asshole at the office, or her latest project or mine.
Today, while my eyes slid away from the depressing darkness and hippy print, and my brain retreated into the calming flute noises, I noticed a picture between the seats. It was notably her, with a young man. It was not a recent picture; her mouth half open, her eyes and his meeting the camera, young and self concious like Rembrandt’s self portrait. The beginnings of age in the crease of her neck. I realized with physical shock that she was beautiful, and my banter died stillborn. I sipped my bitter coffee and looked at the splashes against the windshield and thought, the snow is general all over Ireland. Dandelions blowing into summer air, and the hard soil of small cubicles at the end of the drive.