For this week’s challenge, we were asked to write a short-story, poem, etc. based on one of the photographs in the writing prompt’s gallery (and it doesn’t have to be 1,000 words, thank goodness!). Mark Twain said “write what you know” and I strongly believe in his advice. However, I also believe there is merit in stretching our imaginations through words. So – I’m stretching today – although I’m not really happy with the final result! Maybe it’s like trying to wriggle into a new pair of jeans – eventually it will be worth the effort (or I’ll just embarrass myself).
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still picture our place – the brick arches bleached by the elements, the fading bonny pattern on the floor, the interplay of shadow and sunshine. I can smell the moisture from the mortar and feel coolness emanating from the walls. I can hear the voices drifting in and out, snatches of conversations between scholars debating science and religion, girlfriends – young voices, carefree voices, laughter, dreams, romances…
It was the place where we first met. You were awkward and stumbled when you spoke to me. Your eyes – one green and one blue, unnerved me in return. You told me I was the prettiest girl you had ever seen, and I believed you.
It was the place where we always seemed to meet – grabbing a few golden moments between classes, stealing kisses in the moonlight. We were inexplicably drawn there, just as we had been drawn together. We dreamed of a future, our bodies curled into the curve of the archway – our house with a picket fence and roses, our children, our twilight years on a porch swing, still holding hands.
I barely remember what you said to me. I remember something about duty and honour, for King and country. The walls echoed with your words, your promises to come back to me. Broken promises. I went back, only once. Our place had become a sepulchre, an unmarked tomb. I wandered through the catacombs, looking for peace, but there was none for me. You broke my heart and in over 60 years, I have never recovered.
To see other writers’ stories or to view the other images, click here.