Cara goes by bicycle to the village shop. The sky is polished blue.
As I lie down with Peter in the grassy hollow I imagine Cara peddling home, into the sun.
Time slows: minutes become hours
Peter turns towards me.
Hours become days
I think of Cara squinting, stopping.
Days become weeks
Peter leans forward.
Weeks become months
I picture Cara pushing the bicycle, head bowed.
Months become years
One first kiss, and a shadow falls. We shade our eyes, look up. Cara, her face dark under her hat, frowns.
This is a Friday Fictioneers story: a 100-word piece inspired by the picture (this week provided by Sandra Crook). Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s stories, or here to join in.
I’d love to know what you think – constructive criticism gratefully received – leave a comment below.
Pressed against a wall by heaving crowds and noise, I caught glimpses of Topper out on the dance floor. Every so often one of the spinning lights which hung from the industrial ceiling joists highlighted his face and his body, pulsing in time to the thudding beat which pounded up through my feet. I hadn’t expected him to be a good dancer, but he was loose limbed and fluid. He had infiltrated his way into a hen party – at least a dozen girls wearing bunny ears and pink bow ties, and one with an ‘L’ plate hiding her fluffy tail. I watched, my lips pressed tightly together, as they pushed their breasts against him and touched his face with their painted fingernails.
I knocked back my gin and forced my way through to the bar. It took me three goes to shout my order for another double to the bar-tender, and when I turned back Topper was beside me, a pink and white girl tucked under each arm.
“Audrey,” he shouted, and with just that word I knew he was drunk, whereas I, with my three double gins, was still desperately sober. “Audrey, I’d like you to meet Becky,” he nodded to the girl on the right, who laughed. “And this is…”
“Ness,” shouted the girl.
“That’s right, Nessie. A little monster,” shouted Topper and gave her a squeeze and she squeaked as if she was a child’s toy. “This is my sister, Audrey.” Ness waggled her fingers at me. “I don’t think Audrey likes the club, do you Audrey?” I said nothing. “She wanted me to find a girlfriend, but I’ve found two.” He pulled both girls into him and they giggled. He kissed Becky, taking his time over it, his tongue in her mouth and hers in his while Ness fidgeted. When they had finished Topper wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m going home,” I shouted, before he bent to kiss Ness.
This story is from a prompt given by Trifecta – an online writing group. Each Monday writers are challenged to write a story between 33 and 333 words using a specified word and its meaning. This week the word is club. Click here to read some other responses or to join in.
Image is courtesy of Raelene Gutierrez
I’d love to hear what you think about this piece – good or bad. Let me know in the comment box below.
Ruben and I sat side by side under the dappled shade of the wintereye, with the new ferns uncurling around us like butterfly tongues. Far below I could see the cabin, nestled in the crook of the mountain’s elbow.
Without touching, my body was attuned to his every movement, as if my flesh drew towards him. He lifted his arm to point out an eagle circling in the updraught and I smelled him – warm, leathery, male. He looked down at me. “You aren’t watching,” he laughed.
Then he took my chin in his hand, tilted my head up towards him, and kissed me.
This piece of writing was for the 100 word (or so) prompt for Madison Woods’ #Fridayfictioneers. I’d be very happy to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s.