I have a confession to make: I used to be afraid of short stories. Why? Because I am long winded. I love words. The lilt and flow of them. The thought of having to stifle their flow for a word count used to make me bristle. Then I gave it a go. And I really enjoyed it. I actually found relief in the necessity of ending.
Willow has invited us graciously into her manor each Tuesday to partake in some good, old fashioned story telling. Even if you don't want to participate, you should stop by for some wonderful stories. You are sure to make some new friends. And, if you're feeling up to it, sign yourself up! Get out those rusty short story tools and see what you can make of her sure to be delightful photo prompts.
Here's the first:
Tarnished it stood, against a backdrop of other reminders. Glory days passed by like a breath in the wind. He ran a finger over the engraving wistfully, his name, the date, the occasion. It wasn't so much the reason as the feeling: a time when accomplishment was king and he, well, he was master. What now?
Older he'd become, a little more stout. He wasn't so graceful anymore. No more praised for prowess on field or stream. Long fingers he ran through grey peppered hair, a smile of wistful nostalgia crossed his lips. Goodbye to you, old glory days. Farewell and good riddance.
Good riddance? He looked around. There was no one there to read his thoughts. Why good riddance? The past had been good. He'd been quite popular. But now, yes, now was the gift. And tomorrow? All the future lay spread before him. No use dwelling in bygones.
He took the once gleaming trophy from it's shelf, a waxen apple off gnarled old bough. He gave it a polish with one flannel sleeve, took it the kitchen and filled it with water from the sink. In it he plopped the daisies he'd bought, tokens for a more beautiful and lasting prize.
"Alice", he called into the garden, "Come look what I found."