Tag Archives: #writephoto

Light (Repost) #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

(Originally posted on 22nd of November, 2019 for Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge)

It was just after the first real snow of the year. A couple of wet inches, which might be gone by noon or may last all winter, greeted us.  It sure was pertty, that untracked white. I smiled at the sight, though dreaded the cold winter ahead.

A chill ran through my bones as I thought of last winter.  Not everyone lives through winter, see? At least not out beyond the frontier. Yeah, it was pertty an’ all, and I was as happy as the others, but…

“I say winter is here, no matter the calendar tells us. Let’s get our tree today,” Pa said as we stood around gaping the changed world.

The young‘nes whooped.

My mind went back to that cold, earthen mound.

“Oh, what fer?” I asked.

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Derelict (Re-Post) #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

This was written for Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge on May 25, 2017. As Sue is taking time off of posting new challenges, Willow has had the great idea to re-post old stories created for the challenge.

I crested a small ridge and the countryside became familiar.  It wasn’t anything that could be seen, not any feature or landmark, it had to do with the scent of the air, the feel under my feet and the quality of the sunlight.  I inhaled deeply and knew that I was almost home.

I was but a child when I was ripped from my parents’ arms and given an unbalanced spear and loose fitting leather cap.  I was told to kill or be killed, that king and country depended on me and my fellow farm hands that were rounded up to be shipped to distant lands to fight for noble arguments none of us understood.

Within weeks I was the only person from my village left alive.  Within months there was no other surviving commoner from within day’s walk of my childhood home.  The local lord, who had taken me from my fields, died within the first year.  His lord, a baron, was dead within three.  Ten years of constant battle and we had taken the enemy’s capital.  Another five and I was sent home, dressed in fine silks and fine mail, a bag of gold and silver at my hip and another tied to my saddle.

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Stones (repost) #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

(This was originally posted on April 6, 2017 as part of Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge)

“See here,” wise Beandor said to his young pupil, Therry, “This arch, though appearing so weak, is very strong.  Although the walls may crumble, unless the keystone is disturbed, the arch will stand and bear weight.”

Beandor used his staff to tap the keystone of the arch.

“This arch has allowed people into this temple for over a thousand years, protecting our town of Kernsh from every attack.  Look at this ancient place, overlooking the mighty ocean, it appears weak, and yet it is so strong, like our people.  Our fair country, Aladia, seems fragile, and yet it is just these points that keep it whole.”

Therry studied the arch.

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The Yearning #writephoto (Repeat)

yearning

Photo by Sue Vincent

(This was originally posted on May 30, 2019 as part of Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge)

Meg crested the small hill and stopped.  A last fragrant breeze wafted up from the ocean as the sun slipped down for the night, causing the sky and water to flame.

Her heart bounded and for a minute she felt like a little girl, full of the desires of youth and pull of the sea and distant lands, the deep unending yearning, the yearning to be someplace, anyplace, else.

She brought herself back to the present and found An watching that same sunset.  She gave a knowing smile and walked over to her granddaughter.

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Serenity #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It was one of those blue days.  The sky hung low, the clouds wafted off of the perfectly smooth ocean, half masking the ghost of a sun.

It fitted Matt’s mood perfectly. Yes, calm, almost serene, yet blue.

Why do people have to die? And young people who have done no wrong?  Why?

His eye cast down; he kicked a stone.

“What’s this?”

The glint mixed in with the pebbles on the beach seemed to more than reflect the outward light, it glowed on its own. Continue reading

Token #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

Edna sat down at her favorite bench, giving silent thanks that it was open.  She had seen it occupied at other times of the day, but it was always open for her late morning breakfast and had been for years.

How long had it been?

She thought back.  She had started to come down to the park the year after Ed died.  Let’s see, that was in ’98.  And it was two years later that she settled on that one bench.

So there it was, 18 years of sitting there with her lunch every day.

She spread some crusts out, as always, before getting up and doing her the bit of walking she did every day.

There were a few paths that curved around the lovely garden that she loved to take.  Her favorite, though, went through a little hidden grotto.  Not a cave, just a little nook in the wall.

But what a magical place! Continue reading

Crescent #writephoto

crescent-moon

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Hey boy, get me that crescent wrench.  The middle sized one, now, ya hear, boy?”

“I’ve got a name,” Mark grumbled to himself as he dug through the pile of greasy tools trying to figure out which wrench was the “middle sized one”.

As Mark compared seven different wrenches, he inwardly cringed.  Dad would mangle the car and make it worse.  No use telling him that he needed the right tool, and that the crescent wrench, even the exact one he wanted, wasn’t right.  He’d heard it before. Continue reading

Clouded #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

This is a continuation of a story I wrote last year, Rift.

Everything had seemed so simple!  Jeg had received word from Ashna herself, queen of the godlike Atonee, that he was the key.  All he had to do was go back and mend the rift with Dalph and all would be good between their peoples.

Well, she didn’t say it quite like that.  And healing the wounds between himself and the beautiful Iniyan princess would not be easy by any stretch.  And that was the least of his worries.

Jeg’s mind clouded over. Continue reading

Fantasy #writephoto

fantasy

Photo by Sue Vincent

“How have you been doing during the lockdown?”

“Not bad, not bad.  It’s a good thing we are all readers!”

“Even Chad?  I can’t picture a 17-year-old being content to reading all day.”

“Oh, yes, he happily stays locked in his room, book in hand.”

“Really.  What does he read?”

“Fantasy, I think.”

“Fantasy? A modern 17-year-old boy?”

“Yes.  When I was a kid, I couldn’t put down a book if there were dwarves or elves in it.  Anything even slightly medieval and magical, from Merlin’s Britain to Prydain to Middle Earth to Earthsea, I read them all.  I think Chad is really into it, which is great, though I have to say, I haven’t heard of any of these modern authors.”

“Hmmm.  Have you read any of the books, these so called fantasies of his?”

“Well, no, but I’m sure he said ‘Fantasy’, so I know I’m safe. Here, he accidentally left this downstairs.  I’ll open it randomly and show you by reading a few lines.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s see, page 82, ‘Claudio continued to climb the steps of the castle’s tower, gaining strength with each footfall. He could make out the lush, fertile valley through the occasional window, the moist dew dripping off of the wine-yielding grape vines, and the rounded, forest covered hills just a little farther from the little villa. A mist played over the forbidding lake, though not enough to cover the sensual curve of  Maiden’s Isle.’  Sounds right.  I like the name Claudio.”

“It sounds Italian, not Middle Earth… And some of the language, uhm.  Continue reading.”

“OK, where was I?  ‘Heart pounding in his chest like a war drum, Claudio finally arrived on the top floor. A window stood open allowing the fragrant breeze to tousle his long, chestnut hair, though it did little to cool his sinewy, pulsating muscles. The one door at the top of the tower was closed. Claudio took a confident step towards the closed door, walking like a well oiled machine. It was locked.  He flung himself into it, shoulder first. Nothing.  He took two more steps back, and readied himself for the onslaught, every muscle of his strong, masculine body tensing. But then, a soft word was heard from within, and the door silently slid open with a whiff of perfume.  He didn’t know what destiny had in store for him, yet the feminine scent portended good fortune.  He stopped just inside of the doorway, his rock-hard muscles glistening in the sweat of his effort. Princess Morgan was on the bed, covered only in a translucent silk. He could see the naked form of her body, guess at the treasures hidden beneath. Princess Morgan waved a hand, inviting the daring knight forward. Her hungry eyes devoured him. “Quick, Claudio, before they find you,” she said in a husky voice. He took three large steps towards the bed, shedding his leather armor and armament as he strode towards the princess.  “Yes, my lady.” She smiled and threw the sheet off, revealing her ivory skin.  Claudio feasted his eyes in delight on the soft curves. He raised his weapon of love as his gaze landed on her uncovered…’ Chad! Get you butt down here now!! And I mean now, Mister! Move it!”

“Yep, just what I thought, a fantasy.  Got to go. Bye!”

***

This was written for Sue Vincent’s writephoto challenge.  The photo at the top is Sue’s and she gave a key word, Fantasy.

Worn #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

Through the stiff rhythms and the sprinkling of wrong notes, the tune stood out.  It wasn’t quite right, but it was very recognizable.

But then that last chord, F-A-B, instead of F-A-C, rung out in all of its wrongness.

Timmy slammed his fists down on the keyboard.

“I hate playing the piano!  I’m no good and never will be! I hate it!”

He scrunched over, his arms crossed, his lemon-kissed face showing its displeasure.

Mt. Roberts shook his head.

“Well, Timmy, with that attitude maybe you won’t, yet I can hear a subtle improvement since last time I was here.  You need to try again.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Continue reading