When I first saw the photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, I thought it was coral but then learned it’s a wasp’s nest instead. And so, I went with a sting. Not sure if this piece is fiction, maybe closer to a prose poem.
The sting jolts in a tiny lightning bolt searing through you, throwing open your eyelid shutters, internal organs shuddering with the desirefire of the idea that zips from the brain’s pollencloud in various directions of possibilities, each in turn zipping to curious other possibilities, and details around you become sharper, more vibrant, more connected, and you rush to paper to write, draw, paint it down, as fast as the fingers can capture it, agonizingly slow compared with the soaring possibilities and connections—but still the creation grows and takes shape, unfolding atfirst uncertain and doubtful wings, then launching into wondrous flight.
I missed the peak of the cherry blossoms again this year, but it was still a great time to see the flowering trees around the Tidal Basin. I decided to get there at dawn this time to check out the warm morning light. Most of the blossoms had fallen off the trees, but there were still some hanging on…
And when you arrive after the peak, you can see what happens after the blossoms fall off the trees:
My story’s a bit earlier for this week’s Friday Fictioneers… when I saw the photo prompt of the cool motorcycle sculpture, the following scene came right to mind. Please note that the story is a work of fiction—I don’t know the artist of this sculpture. If you are, please let me know and I’ll include your name in the list of copyrights below the story.
“One of my early pieces,” Linda said, her voice years of cigarettes.
“Beautiful,” Ken said. “You sure found your calling.”
“Yep. Made me finally settle down. Feels good to work with all that scrap. Something new from the old.”
“But you still get out on the road now and then, right?” Sharon asked.
A glint in Linda’s eye like a welding torch firing up. Bright against her deep Saint Augustine, Florida, tan. “Can’t help it.”
“You sure can’t, babe,” James laughed. “Here’s to still ridin’ toward the sun.”
The group of friends raised their beers with rumbles of agreement.
Stark against the sky. Memories echoing, Travis watched the branches.
“We have to let you go,” Charlie said.
“Thirtyseven years here, that’s all you got to say?” Travis roared.
“What did you say?” The surprised man in the SUV. Stopped at a gas station last night and here was Travis holding a gun at his open window.
Stirring in the backseat. The dog and Travis stared quizzically.
Slammed backward, thudded on asphalt. A blast, hot pain in his shoulder. The SUV’s door slammed shut, vehicle roared off.
He ran into countryside and day’s heat. Finally, the stark tree.
Friday Fictioneers prompt given by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. For other stories inspired by this photo, click here.
Photo from Scott Vanatter with permission and copyright Indira.
Story copyright Dave Williams
Some early cherry blossoms were out a week ago, back when we had a late snowfall here in Maryland. The photos I took with my cellphone weren’t great, so I played with some vintage and color effects. I planning on checking out the trees around the Tidal Basin in Washington, DC soon, as they haven’t hit their peak yet. So more photos to come soon…
Another time with the Friday Fictioneers, and a thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for posting these prompts!
“All right, everyone, listen up!”
Three heads turned toward Mom, then to the flames in glass vases.
“What, are those antique flashlights?”
“They’re oil lamps,” Dad said.
“Didn’t they kill whales for oil?”
“Yes, they did,” Mom said. “We’re going for a weekend without electronics. Time to unplug.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all,” Mom said. “We’ll have good, old-fashioned fun.”
“They had fun in the old days?”
“Of course they did, you dope. They just killed more whales back then.”
“We’re not killing whales,” Dad said. “We’re gonna play games and tell stories.”
The two kids groaned.
Story copyright Dave Williams
Photo copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields