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Writing Challenge: Blue Smoke

My name is Timmy Reynolds and i am age 6.

mum gave me a diery so i could write my thougts in it every day. she says i am clever for my age. teachers at school dont like me. miss Gregs says i am a buzy body and a no it all. but miss Foster is nice. she always asks if me and mum are ok. she writes down everythink i say.

Now i can write what i say to. my diery is blue and red and has a pickture of a turtel on it. its hard to write out side becos its cold in Febry and my fingers get slow.

I can here mum laughing in side. she always does that when the wizard comes. i dont like being on the back step. its lonly. but when the wizard is here i have to sit on it. mum red me a story about a wizard last week. i dont think the man that makes mum laugh is a reel wizard. he has no beerd or a wand or a cape like Dumbeldoor. the wizard has picktures on his arms and a ring in his nose. and he smells funny. hes meen to me.

I get reely hungry on the back step. last week it got to nite time and i was hungry. when i went in side for a samwidge mum shouted at me. she was lieing on the sofa with the wizard. it was hard to see her becos the house was foggy with blue smoke. it was very smelly in side. the wizard called me a brat. mum said i had to wait for the wizard to go home. i wasnt to be in side when she had her speshul time.

Some times i wonder why my dad doesnt come home. he could make me a cheese samwidge and draw picktures with me. mum says my dad works far away. he must be very busy becos i havent seen him for a long time. mum looks after me good. some times we make griled cheese togehter and she tells me jokes. she doesnt like it when i ask about her work. she says its grown up stuff. she must have a grate job becos she knows lots of peeple and has lots of freinds. some are like the wizard but some i only see one time.

My bottum is cold now. the stars are comign out. at school we did about the moon and the sun. we saw a movie about astronorts in space. when i grow up i will be an astronort and fly away from the erth. i think if i fly far away i will find my dad. when i asked where my dad was mum said he was probly high. she gets angry when i ask about him. mums and dads are sposed to be best freinds. 

Now they are playing music. that means i wont be let in side for a long time. i could go to my freinds house. her name is Kris. her mum makes me a cheese samwidge some times. i sleep in a spare bed and she sings to me. when she takes me back home in the monring my mum is always crying.

Maybe the blue smoke gets in her eyes.

-x-x-x-

This short story was inspired by Indigo Spider’s Sunday Picture Press – a challenge to write a 500 word piece of fiction using one of 2 photos as a prompt.

I reached 554 words and had to stop, I am tempted to write another piece in the third person about Timmy rather than through his words. It’s been a long time since I was 6 so I tried my best to write this as accurately as possible using a 6 year old’s vocabulary and how they might perceive the world. I did a bit of research about how children write so there are some very obvious spelling mistakes etc in the story!

Once again 2 excellent picture prompts. If you want to join in and write a short piece of fiction clicky-click Indigo Spider’s link above and wrap your imagination around one of the photos!

The photo I used for the writing prompt is from http://smashinghub.com

Writing Challenge: Fracture

That’s me, Christopher Patterson, on the day it all happened.

No one really knows how or why, all I can tell you is that few of us made it through, although some wish they hadn’t because there’s nothing left to smile about these days. Back in ’58 I was a regular kid, I went to school, played baseball and hung out with my friends. Shoot, I even had my eye on the cutest girl in school for the summer ball. I wonder what happened to Jess after everything went bad. I like to imagine she found a safe place with her family, far away from the crazy. Maybe we’ll bump into each other some day.

Stupid idea.

She wouldn’t recognise me, Jess barely knew I existed. I wasn’t part of the cool gang like her. No cool gang now. No gangs at all in fact, well, not the good sort.

It’s weird how we remember the little things, don’t you think? It was my 12th birthday when that photo was taken, my family were going to Little Belle’s Diner. I was so excited. Little Belle’s did the best burgers and chilli fries around. They had those revolving menus on the tables and the coolest music on the jukebox. I wore my new sneakers and jacket, it was a bit big but I didn’t care, it looked so cool.

We never made it to Little Belle’s. My dad made us watch an emergency broadcast on TV, funny how that was the last show most folks ever saw. Eisenhower gave a speech that made my mom cry and my dad shout. The main thing I remember was a cold scary feeling in my stomach. My dad seldom spoke about the war, the past belongs in the past he used to say. When the President finished and the test signal came on my dad changed from the loving, fun and always smiling man I had known all my life to a disciplined soldier rallying his troops on a battlefield.

It took less than 30 minutes to leave the home I would never see again. Our quiet street was chaos. Neighbours were packing up and leaving, people were screaming and crying. Mr Franklin tried to persuade us to join his family. My dad said no, we had to pick up my sister from college. Something in the way they solemnly saluted each other made me realise they were more than just neighbours. It made my mom cry.

Our big yellow school bus attracted too much attention. People wanted to get on but my dad kept driving. It got pretty ugly, the crowds threw bricks and things at the bus. Delia was waiting outside the college gates. She was taking photographs of the panic filled streets, and she snapped the last photo of me, man I look different now. My dad hauled her on the bus and we left the madness of the town behind forever.

Since that day my dad taught me everything he knew about survival. He said he knew one day the world would tear itself apart, that WWII was just a warm up for the Big One. He admitted he never imagined it would happen the way it did.

We live in isolation, out in the wilderness.

Perhaps when it’s safe we’ll go back to our old lives.

There’s not much to smile about these days so that was supposed to be a joke.

Like my dad says, the past belongs in the past.

-x-x-x-

This short story was inspired by Indigo Spider’s Sunday Picture Pressa challenge to write a 500 word piece of fiction using one of 2 photos as a prompt.

I went over again with 583 words. I tried to cut it down but after editing I couldn’t bring myself to reduce it further. I’m not sure it needs an explanation, I quite like the story as it is. Obviously something bad happened, quite what isn’t explained, nor needs to be.

Once again 2 excellent picture prompts. If you want to join in and write a short piece of fiction clicky-click Indigo Spider’s link above and wrap your imagination around one of the photos!

The photo I used for the writing prompt is called Colorado Pop by Elliott Erwitt

Writing Challenge: The Unknown

The Unknown - Diane Arbus

“You got a name? Where you from?”

“Easy there Clara,” Howard said. He lifted his hat and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “It’s just shock is all, we don’t need to be crowdin’ around askin’ questions like an interrogation squad.”

“You never had a stomach for this, Howie,” Clara snapped. “Go make some tea. Must be ‘bove forty out there. We’re all parched and you got the stink of a dead pig.”

“There’s no call for insults, Clara,” said Cliff. “Not when we got this here problem to deal with.”

Howard shuffled over to the kettle and sniffed his armpits. “Ain’t smellin’ no pig,” he muttered.

Clara leaned forward. “You got a tongue? Speak up.”

“I’m thinking it’s one of them robots,” Cliff suggested. “Like them what took Millie and Ted and the others.”

“Twaddle!” Clara said. “We ain’t seen no bot goin’ on ten years. They don’t make ‘em no more, Cliff.”

“I don’t know so much,” Cliff replied. He didn’t like it when Clara pretended to know the unknown. “Hardly anyone comes this way no more, least of all folks wishin’ to abandon this…heck, I don’t know what to call it.”

“It’s a menace,” Clara told them. “We ought to be rid of it before it does something we don’t like.”

“Easy Clara, let’s not be too hasty. Brand new thing such as this might be worth keeping. Heck! I swear none of the neighbour folk have one.”

“They don’t got squat,” Clara said. She didn’t like the neighbours much. “Morons and inbred swine, the lot of ‘em. Ain’t none of ‘em got the sense God gave ‘em.”

Cliff put a finger to his lips. “Clara!” he hissed. “There’ll be hell to pay if they hear you talkin’ like that.”

Clara waved her hands at him. “Pah. They ain’t hearin’ us. If they’d stayed in the basement like the rest of us they wouldn’t be messed up the way they are when the fire burned the sky.”

“Skinny Earl ain’t got the effects yet,” Cliff told her. “He’s a wily one. Always snoopin’ around. Best we keep hushed up ’bout this lest he shows up with his boom-stick. You know what happened last time.”

Clara was quiet for a moment. “Poor Jacob,” she said. “Never stood a chance. I ain’t never seen so many holes in a person.”

“So we’re keepin’ it quiet then?” asked Howard. He passed around cups of tea. “At least till we figure what to do. Sure is a pretty thing.”

“We could cook it.”

Howard and Cliff gaped at her suggestion.

“Just jestin’,” Clara said. “You nitwits got no sense of humour.”

“Bad taste that,” Cliff said.

“We need to fathom what it’s for,” Howard told them. “Ain’t there a note or nothin’?”

“Looky there,” Cliff said. He pointed to a slip of paper wedged in the box.

Howard carefully removed it and handed it to Clara who peered at it through her spectacles.

“Well I’ll be…” she gasped. “Says here: My name is Rex. I am six months. My owners can’t look after me cos they got sick with the effects. I need lots of love and treats.

“Six months what?” asked Cliff.

“Howie, pass me the big blue book,” said Clara.

They crowded around the book and Clara flipped through the pages until she found the right one. They stared at the picture then at the new arrival and back to the picture.

“What’s a dog?” Howard finally asked.

-x-x-x-

This short story was inspired by Indigo Spider’s Sunday Picture Press - a challenge to write a 500 word piece of fiction using one of 2 photos as a prompt.

This time I went over with 570 words but it was worth it! On the last Writing Challenge: The Shelter, I gave a slight explanation of my story but this time I’ll just leave it open to interpretation. If you want to join in and write a short piece of fiction clicky-click Indigo Spider’s link above and wrap your imagination around one of the photos!

The photo is called The Unknown by Diane Arbus.

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