Marianne enjoyed BAFAB Week so much, she's decided to continue contesting. So, she has a new weekly contest she's running... a chance to win a book from her library (and, folks, she has some really neat books!). To enter this week, just go to this post and leave a comment. Yep, it has to be this particular post. While you are there, though, check out her other posts.
Direct from Bone, here are the rules and this week's words:
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Lost
Waves
Lined
And, now, my contribution:
Fiona stared at the old house-- its shutters hanging crooked, paint peeling, grass and weeds grown up around the porch, bright yellow tape circling the property —and tears streamed down her face as she remembered waves from the front porch as she rode her bicycle down the now-broken sidewalk. The lined face of Miss Matilda as she served fragrant tea from her special porcelain cups, trusting the 12-year-old girl would not break them.
Why, oh why hadn't she taken the time to stop in last night when she drove into town? At least just to say hello. And, now, it was too late. She had lost the chance. The chance to thank her for introducing her to a wonderful, almost disappeared tradition. The chance to talk to her about possibly utilizing the house as a base of business. But, most importantly, the chance to tell her how much her friendship had meant over the years.
How could anyone have killed Miss Matilda… and in such a way? An image of the dear old woman, battered and beaten, flashed through Fiona's mind. Was it happening even as I sat outside? If I hadn't been in such a hurry to get to Linda Sue's, maybe I could have prevented it. A cold knot of guilt formed in her chest.
A hand grabbed her arm, jerking her out of her reverie.
"What are you doing here?"
She turned to see a uniformed man standing beside her and hurriedly wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Clive?"
"Fiona? What on earth are you doing here?"
Fiona looked down at the badge pinned on his shirt. "Mama wrote me that you'd been elected sheriff. Congratulations."
"What are you doing here? This is a crime scene."
She turned to look back at the house. "I know. I heard the news on the radio this morning. I… I just felt like I needed to be here."
He sighed took off his hat, and wiped his brow. "Listen, I know you and Miss Matilda used to be close, but we don't want a lot of people traipsing around over here. The GBI will be here shortly and everything needs to be left as it was."
In horror, she asked, "Everything?"
Clive looked at her, shame and defiance mixed in his eyes. "Yes, Fiona. Everything. It's the law."
Direct from Bone, here are the rules and this week's words:
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Lost
Waves
Lined
And, now, my contribution:
Fiona stared at the old house-- its shutters hanging crooked, paint peeling, grass and weeds grown up around the porch, bright yellow tape circling the property —and tears streamed down her face as she remembered waves from the front porch as she rode her bicycle down the now-broken sidewalk. The lined face of Miss Matilda as she served fragrant tea from her special porcelain cups, trusting the 12-year-old girl would not break them.
Why, oh why hadn't she taken the time to stop in last night when she drove into town? At least just to say hello. And, now, it was too late. She had lost the chance. The chance to thank her for introducing her to a wonderful, almost disappeared tradition. The chance to talk to her about possibly utilizing the house as a base of business. But, most importantly, the chance to tell her how much her friendship had meant over the years.
How could anyone have killed Miss Matilda… and in such a way? An image of the dear old woman, battered and beaten, flashed through Fiona's mind. Was it happening even as I sat outside? If I hadn't been in such a hurry to get to Linda Sue's, maybe I could have prevented it. A cold knot of guilt formed in her chest.
A hand grabbed her arm, jerking her out of her reverie.
"What are you doing here?"
She turned to see a uniformed man standing beside her and hurriedly wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Clive?"
"Fiona? What on earth are you doing here?"
Fiona looked down at the badge pinned on his shirt. "Mama wrote me that you'd been elected sheriff. Congratulations."
"What are you doing here? This is a crime scene."
She turned to look back at the house. "I know. I heard the news on the radio this morning. I… I just felt like I needed to be here."
He sighed took off his hat, and wiped his brow. "Listen, I know you and Miss Matilda used to be close, but we don't want a lot of people traipsing around over here. The GBI will be here shortly and everything needs to be left as it was."
In horror, she asked, "Everything?"
Clive looked at her, shame and defiance mixed in his eyes. "Yes, Fiona. Everything. It's the law."
And WHAT pray tell, did Fiona want to change???
ReplyDeleteFun.
--Gay
Wow! Very interesting 3WW. I need to go read all your Fiona posts...one of these days.
ReplyDeleteI really like your posts. I'm going to go check out your other posts.
ReplyDeleteKimberly L
Oh this was great!
ReplyDeleteI'm totally lured into the story... :)