Write a story with an old lady doing a task. Have her reminisce about something, and shift the scene to the past and back.
She took a long pull on her cigarette and exhaled slowly, blowing the smoke through the wind. She flicked the ash into the ivy that was trying to take over the pillar on her front porch. The wood railing creaked as she folded her arms and rested them on flaking white paint. Her tulips were dying even though it was still early April. Her son had just left, handing her her weekly medication and giving her a peck on the cheek before dashing off to his most recent wife. Catherine? Isabel? She can’t remember which grandkids belonged to which of his wives. She looked over at the huge old Ford, somewhat rusty, in a faded salmon color, with one remaining white trimmed wheel. It used to be fresh and new. Kind of like her.
The sun was hot and the breeze was stilled. The dust was kicked up and blown right back into their faces, but that didn’t prevent them from sticking their heads out the window in order to catch some sort of air. If they left their mouths open the dirt would turn to mud in their mouths. They didn’t care. The rocks dinged off of the cherry red paint and pebbles crunched under the white-rimmed tires. Stuart draped his arm around her and pulled her back across the bench seat to snuggle against his shoulder. She felt him bury his nose in hair and inhale, long and slow. She smiled, and reached up and clasped his hand as it lay over her right shoulder.
Still staring over at the beaten old truck, she threw the cigarette into the dying tulips and examined her spotty wrinkled hands. The porch swing creaked and she heard a loud grunting snore. Stuart rolled over on the swing and blew out a croaking sigh, before snuffling again. “Useless lump,” she said.
No comments:
Post a Comment