Her body sank to the cobbles, each bony vertebra grazing skin against whitewashed wall. In slow motion she slid sideways into the shade, eyes glassy and the taste of dirt and leather in her mouth from a million sandals that had trod the alley before her. It was empty now, everyone indoors – away from the midday sun. As sleep, or something greater overtook her, she saw her mother pouring homemade lemonade from a pitcher she had never owned.
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This is a Friday Fictioneers story. A re-run (because it’s summer and we’re all busy) of an FF story I wrote in 2012. It became a (much altered) crucial scene in the novel I was writing at the time, which became Our Endless Numbered Days, and when it was finished was bought by Penguin (and others), and published in 2015. Just goes to show that these pieces of flash fiction sometimes go on to have much longer lives than we ever imagine when first writing them. Join in, or read others.
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Last week I revealed the UK, US and Canadian covers for my next book, Swimming Lessons. Click here, for the big pictures.
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- UK hardback cover
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- US hardback and Canadian cover
love the line “she saw her mother pouring homemade lemonade from a pitcher she had never owned”. I’m trying to figure out which scene this became in the book
It became the scene where Peggy finds the German village, near the end of the book. As I said, much changed – but the inspiration was this story.
Ahh, right. That makes sense
Tense scene. The drag of the bones is a visceral touch.
Thank you!
I love the thought of reusing scenes into novels… so much to love in a scene like this, all those open ends that can be fit into a narrative… and yes I guess it had to be changed a bit to fit your novel’s place and time.
Don’t want any words to go to waste 😉
Such a vivid scene, I stood there, watching her. Great work, as usual.
Thank you!
I love ‘the taste of dirt and leather in her mouth from a million sandals…’ It’s a description that really stays with you! My mouth gets dry just thinking about it!
Thank Thom – I’m sure it doesn’t taste nice.
The drag of the bones gave me a pain in my spine. This is mysterious, graphic, and beautifully written.
Thanks Sandra.
I could feel, sense, see, touch this:
“… each bony vertebra grazing skin against whitewashed wall. In slow motion she slid sideways into the shade, eyes glassy and the taste of dirt and leather in her mouth from a million sandals that had trod the alley before her. ”
What a great fragment of a story. I’ll have to check out the longer version at some point soon.
Thank you! Glad you liked it.
One never knows when inspiration will strike. This little girl must have nudged you in the right (write) direction. Great tale. Vivid prose.
Yes. I love how writing works like that.
Superb piece, Claire.
‘never owned’ has my mind going in all sorts of places.
Love it.
Me too. I can’t explain what she means.
I liked that ‘taste of a million sandals’ line. Pretty good stuff here, Claire!
Five out of five lemonades. 🙂
Hah! Thank you!
😀
Really enjoyed hearing about the evolution of this piece – fascinating insight!
The ‘pitcher she had never owned’ has aroused interest. I often dream of houses where I’ve never actually lived – apparently quite common.
And that cover is beautiful – very striking.
Ooh, dreaming of a house you’ve never lived in. I like that.
As sleep, or something greater overtook her
This line left me wondering…wondering…wondering…
That’s what every writer likes to hear. Thanks Alicia.
I am so glad you chose to reshare. This is a powerful picture and I love the welcoming arms of oblivion that you create here.
Thank you!
She’s probably dying.
Very vivid descriptions.
I saw her die of heatstroke, but apparently I was wrong. 🙂 Great setting of the scene with all the senses involved.
I don’t know. I think you could be right.
A great scene–pulls all of our senses as it builds tension to the final image that she sees only in her mind’s eye.
Thanks Jan
I could feel the rough plastered wall against her back, and the taste of sandals was a touch of genius.
Ahh, thanks Liz. I wasn’t sure that would work – who know what sandals taste like?!
An interesting thought that a novel should stem from this mysterious piece.
Bits of writing come from other bits of writing…
Wonderfully evocative. I’m in there with her all the way down the wall as she slides to the ground. And the enigmatic ending leads to all sorts of possibilities.
Thanks Margaret!
Great description in this scene, Clarie. I could picture it happening. Impressive covers for your latest book. All the best with it. 🙂 — Suzanne
Thanks Suzanne. Glad you liked it.
Claire, I’m so incredibly excited for you, with your 2nd book coming! It seems like not long ago at all, that we were exchanging messages about getting published, being mid’ish aged 😉 and the challenges of both. You know I’m a huge fan of OEND; I can’t wait to read the next!
While I understood most of what was happening here, I found myself a bit lost–– something that rarely happens when I read your work. Not sure what it was, but the first line had me stuck a bit. Is it cobble stone? Or, does cobble refer to something I’m missing? The final line “she saw her mother pouring homemade lemonade from a pitcher she had never owned” is perfection.
I wonder if ‘cobbles’ is a British word. We often shorten cobblestones to cobbles. Funny how I didn’t even think twice about it, but some English words don’t always work across all English speakers. Something for me to think about more…