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!
Her feet were bruised and
muddy. She had clearly walked miles on bare feet.
He looked down at them
obviously. “Where are your shoes?”
She shrugged. “Lost them.”
“Lost them or they took them?”
Another shrug.
So, they took them. He knew
that before he asked. “Go wash your feet under the garden hose.”
She hurried off to do that
while he grabbed a towel. She wasn’t his kid. No relation to him at all. But
she was part of his pack. That meant he had to look after her. He didn’t mind;
he had always liked her. But she did need to stand up for herself. If only
because her mother would get that strained look on her face. The one that she
got at the thought of trying to find the money to buy new shoes. This wasn’t
the first time this had happened.
He thought he understood. She
could hurt them; really badly. She wasn’t frightened of standing up for
herself. She was frightened of standing out. If she belted up all the
bullies... she would be... what? The new head bully?
That, she wasn’t ever
going to do.
He also knew he couldn’t
interfere.
He lent her a pair of sandals
that were just way too large for her. He motioned her towards the truck, as per
usual. But not as per usual, he turned right out of the yard gate instead of
left.
She gave him a panicked glance
and hunched down in her seat.
He drove back towards the
school. She had been held up until she missed the bus, otherwise she wouldn’t
have needed the ride home.
He spotted the shoes. He could
tell he was close because she started to shift nervously in her seat. He parked
the truck, got out and looked up. Her shoes had the laces tied together and
were hung from the top of the flagpole.
“Huh,” he said,
She was staring at the ground.
“Well, go on.”
“What?” she growled out.
“Go get ‘em.”
She didn’t bother to deny that
she could, but she also didn’t move.
“Go!” he ordered.
Slipping off the sandals and
as agile as a monkey she shimmied up the pole. When she couldn’t untie them,
she cut the laces with a switchblade she pulled out of her back pocket. Her
mother would prefer to buy new laces, than new shoes.
“Shit! She carries a knife?”
he heard from nearby.
He stifled his smile. Clearly
one of her abusers was having second thoughts. He hoped that she hadn’t heard
it.
She waved the shoes at him
triumphantly when she landed on the ground.
“Good. Let’s get you home.”
He felt like putting his arm
around her; he would miss her visits, but he suspected that he wouldn’t see her
shoeless at his door again. And that was a good thing.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2014
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