Words for Wednesday will be here for the Month of April. All the way from Newfoundland, Canada, which has its own time zone - 30 minutes ahead of the rest of Canada. Thanks as always to Elephant's Child for keeping this feast going.
This meme was started by Delores a long time ago. Computer issues led her to bow out for a while. The meme was too much fun to let go, and now Words for Wednesday is provided by a number of people and has become a movable feast.Essentially the aim is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, or treating them with ignore... We can use some or all of the prompts, and mixing and matching is encouraged.
Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog. I would really like it if as many people as possible joined into this fun meme, which includes cheering on the other participants. If you are posting on your own blog - let me know so that I, and other participants, can come along and applaud.
Claustrophobia was what she had to live with since she was twelve. It rendered her a recluse - for being in a confined space was impossible. Like now. Yeah, she had all the therapy, thank you very much. But even Dr. Herzel's large office was torture. Being told to stay with her feelings, let them wash over her, blah and blah cubed. Her impulse to run away and out onto the street always won.
Here in the small church where The Disciples congregated every Sunday at 9, was torture too, hemmed between her parents like a child. She was twenty one for God's sake. Home for the weekend from college.
The sounds of the Sunday Farmer's Market surged through the open church windows on the golden light from the morning sun. It was calling her name and this time she obeyed. The minister was pounding the pulpit in rhythm to her heart as she broke free, pulling her arm from her father's restraint, not caring about the hazard to his failing heart that he guilted her with every time she came home, "You'll be the death of me, child," clutching his chest over her latest innocent exploit, like drinking a glass of wine.
She flew outside the church door, mingling with the heady mix of peasants and the well-to-dos who stayed at a manageable distance from her, as they crowded the stalls of vegetables, fruits and meats.
She breathed in the intoxicating smell of freedom as she moved around.
It was high time indeed to deal with the undeserved punishment of her father locking her for five hours in the cellar's dark cold room for innocently kissing Albert in the school playground all those years ago.
I like your story, but isn't Agoraphobia a fear of wide open spaces?ReplyDelete
Thanks River, amended. Covid-Brain is destroying me, I tell ya!Delete
I love your story, but like River I wonder whether you meant claustrophobia - which I suffer from. Suffer to the extent that being in the basement of tall buildings is a challenge. Fortunately mine is NOT the result of being punished for innocent (and loving) behaviour.ReplyDelete
Thanks EC, amended of course. Sorry to hear you suffer from this, I have a mild form of it too. Small spaces for me.Delete
Ouch. Claustrophobia can be un-learned. But her knowing what caused it might be the better part of the cure.Delete
A great story of escape.Delete
Just when I was starting to feel sorry for her dad... great ending and the third paragraph is especially beautifully written.Delete
‘Peasant. You look like a peasant. You behave like a peasant. You behave as if your purse is light, and that you can see the bottom. Every market holder knows you, and also knows that you will pick up and smell their produce, gently squeeze it and then you will haggle about the price. Why? We live in a surging economy. Your business is doing well. Mine is doing better. Are you ever going to give into impulse and perhaps buy a little wine???’ReplyDelete
You say that I am a peasant as a criticism. I am proud to be one. You and your friends congregate at fashion’s altar. Your way of life is hazardous to you, and also to the planet. I see no need to buy clothes just because someone famous has been seen in them. I eat food that is in season, food that doesn’t have to be jetted half way across the world. Good food, tasty food, healthy food. We have made our choices – but mine allows me to sleep at night.
Well done EC, these words flow beautifully with much to think about.Delete
Love your story EC, I'd be a peasant rather than a peacock too.Delete
Nicely written. I back up your choice.Delete
Great job as always EC.Delete
An important message tucked into a well crafted little story. Well done!Delete
My story is over here.ReplyDelete
WWW, excellent use of your prompts! Yes, i do hope she breaks free of that fear.Delete
I hope for a good outcome of this uprising, but fear the worst. Well written.Delete
I left a comment on your blog. Great story, which feels to me as though it is set in the same time period as the painting.Delete
My contribution is here. No Susan or Mary & Allan story this time around, sorry.ReplyDelete
I commented on your blog, but want to pay a compliment here as well. Lovely story!Delete
Thank you WiseWebWoman for the April prompts. You gave us some good ones. Here is my story for this week.ReplyDelete
NO HELP by Granny Annie
Alice was returning from work and the market when Jerry handed her another bag. It held his success of the wasted day...a large, plump pheasant.
"Cook this for our dinner tonight Alice!" Jerry demanded. Her mean, unemployed husband then headed for the pub to congregate with his friends and brag about his hunt. He did not bother to offer helping carry the bags into the house for her.
Alice stood in her kitchen feeling an impulse to throw everything on the floor. She knew that Jerry would fill himself up with wine and then invite half the bar to come for dinner. She also knew if the meal was not ready on time, a hazard would ensue.
A beautiful light dawned on Alice and a smile crossed her face. A strong surging strength filled her heart and she knew what to do. She placed the bloody bird in the center of the table along with a note that read, "Here is your dinner. Enjoy." and she walked out the door for good.
What a great use of the prompts, Granny Annie. I am cheering her on!Delete
Enough is enough.Delete
A perfect response. Good for her! I hope he ends up with everyone from the bar there, hoping to be fed. Great story!Delete
What fun words, and an introducion to an artist and a poet. Thanks, Wisewebwoman, for hosting this challenge this month. I was invited to participate in another challenge this month as well, so combined all the words into one tale, just posted on my blog. A Splat, a Schlurpppp and a SmoochReplyDelete
AND - less than an hour after I published this story on my blog and provided the link here, my story has disappeared from my blog?!? THe title remains but the photo and the body of the post have disappeared. I have no idea why, and I've contacted the Blogger help desk to see if they can help, but I'm not optimistic. If I recover or recreate it, I will add an update here. Until then, I fear it is gone. Unfortunately, I typed it on my Blogger desktop and didn't make a copy of it anywhere. Lesson learned, I guess.Delete
Oh Susan, I am so sorry to hear this, I just went back again and it's still not up so it doesn't bode well. I usually type mine out somewhere else before putting on a blog. But I too have rushed and forgotten to do that and lose it.Delete
Oh, I never made it there in timne to read it. I hope you'll retrieve it, but I won't hold my breath.Delete
Thank you WWW and Charlotte. I still have not heard back from Blogger. The only possible explanation I can think of is that they deleted the post because they misinterpreted my title and considered it adult content??! It certainly was not that sort of story –in any way–but perhaps by including the word smooch, my innocent attempt at a humorous title really backfired? Maybe they didn't even read the post and deleted it? Who knows?! Or, perhaps the error was somehow a mistake of mine.Delete
Well, I never heard back from Blogger, but I rewrote my story. It is now published on my blog. Here is the link: A Onomatopoetic Conversation (A Word Prompt Fiction Story)Delete
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