Writer’s Block
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
“You left,” the child accused,
from her hiding place under the table.
“I promised I would come back,” he
replied. “And I did.”
She frowned at him and remained
unmollified, so he added, “I am here now.”
“You left,” she repeated.
“I had to fight the bad guys and
keep you safe. You can come out now.”
She crawled out towards him and he
scooped her up and placed her on her feet.
She held her arms up; flexing her
tiny biceps and squeezing her hands into fists. “I can fight. I’m strong,” she
argued.
“I know you are, Honey.”
“They wouldn’t come in here,” she
announced. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Nanna is scary,” she confided to
him.
“Oh, I know,” he whispered back.
“She is my mother - remember?”
With wide eyes, she popped her
fingers over her mouth as if she had already said too much.
His mother pretended not to hear
any of this but her eyes twinkled.
“So you were safe, then. With
Nanna.”
“Not happy,” she said.
“You were very brave,” he assured
her.
For the first time, she took a
good look at him and realised that he had not escaped the fight unscathed. He
had a small cut on his face and a larger one down his leg if the blood was any
guide. Her annoyance evaporated and she threw herself at him.
He looked pleased. “Hey, hey. I’m
okay.“
“You can go get that seen to now,”
his mother said. “You’ve seen that she’s safe.”
“Fine.” He kissed his mother’s
cheek, holding the small girl on the hip of his uninjured leg. “I’ll be back,”
he promised her.
“I believe you,” she said.
He sat her on a bench and pulled
her and the bench towards the table.
“Good. You wait here.”
“Yes, father.”
He left, the door banged behind
him.
The small girl stayed sitting at
the table she had been hiding under earlier. She watched the older woman make a
hot drink for her. There appeared to be something troubling her.
“What are you thinking, little
one?”
“If I hurt myself, you say that I
have to show it to you fast.”
“Yes, I do say that... oh, I see.
You think your father should have got his cut fixed first?”
The child nodded quickly.
“He should have - he insisted on
seeing you.”
“Why?”
“Because he lost your mother.”
“In an attack; like that raid?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She looked very serious. She
knew Nanna never lied to her, and often told her the truth of things. “I will
be braver next time.”
“I hope that there will not be a
next time, so that you have no need to be,” her grandmother said. “Now drink up
your hot milk.”
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
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