Category: Writing Prompt

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Faded Image

Sedro-Woolley, WA

The following story is fictional and inspired by the image above:

My mind is all over the place as I sort through the worn box from my past. I just unearthed it from my office closet where it hadn’t seen the light of day in nearly twenty-five years. It’s filled with letters and trinkets from my college days. When I come across the photo, I stop short. The box slides from my lap and falls to the floor but I make no effort to stop it. The photo has my complete attention.

I remember the day I took it. It was the weekend before graduation and the six of us were inseparable back then. We had just finished the last of our exams and decided to go for a hike. I fight the lump in my throat as my memory of that day surfaces. You’d think after so many years, the sting would have lessened but it hasn’t.

As I gaze at the fading image, I can’t help but think of the person I was when I took the picture and how much my life would change in the hours that followed. Little did I know it would be the last time we would all be together. It was the last picture of David ever taken. A few hours after this captured moment, his life would be cut short by a stray bullet from the rifle of a drunken hunter.

I recall my hands becoming sticky with blood as I applied pressure to the gaping hole in his chest. There was so much of it, the smell overwhelmed me and to this day, the sight of blood makes me faint. We tried to get help, but help came too late.

My hands begin to tremble and the picture shakes. The image blurs as my tears fall once again for my fallen best friend. I reach for the box but before I return the picture, I think better of it.

I set the newly framed photo on the mantle of my fireplace and trace my finger over my absent friend; gone but never forgotten.

End Transmission.

Posted on

Something in the Air

The following short story was inspired by today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt

Lake Easton State Park

The river is the only safe place to travel. The dead couldn’t swim. I long to return to the shore, to feel the warm sun on my skin and to give my weary arms a break, but I can’t. I can see them through the trees; their eyes empty, hollow. They stand unmoving like statues yet I can feel their dead gaze upon me as I maneuver my boat through the water.

I set my paddle down and take a moment to catch my breath. I’m out in the open in the relative calm and safety of the water. Up ahead of me the river narrows and I fear it may become shallow enough for the dead to reach me.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes as the gentle breeze caresses my face. I am so very tired and I allow my eyes to stay closed.

I feel the hull of my kayak hit something and sit up awake. How had I allowed myself to sleep? I’ve drifted toward the shore and I’m hung up on a tree just below the surface. I sense movement on the shore and the dead statues begin to move sensing I am nearby. I hear the splash as the dead hit the water and make their slow shuffle toward me.

I put my paddle in the water and attempt to push off the submerged debris. It takes me a moment. There is a current driving me closer to the dead who make their way across the shallow water to the edge of my kayak. I feel a thump behind me as the first of them arrive.

I’m free of the tree below the water but the dead have my boat now. I attempt to paddle free but there’s too much dead weight. I turn and use my paddle as a ram but the dead don’t flinch.

Closer and closer, they are nearly upon me. I pull out my pistol, only three bullets remain. I make them count. Two head shots and the dead weight is gone. I drop the pistol into my lap and pick up my paddle only to find another two ahead of me. Another head shot, another one gone but alas, there is little I can do against the fourth and the horde behind him.

I am certain this is the end but then there is a boom in the distance. It’s just loud enough to give the dead pause. The air changes and a green haze consumes the once brilliant blue sky. The dead remain still as they are torn between the new sound and me.

I remain frozen in place, unwilling to remind the dead of my proximity to them. The air changes, it smells funny and tastes almost metallic. The dead one in front of me sinks into the water. He makes a splashing sound as he does and I fear he has drawn the others to me but as I look around, I hear more splashes and see more dead falling.

It takes me a moment to realize what is happening. I have survived and the dead are falling. I’m alive and the dead are truly dead now. I paddle my kayak away from the horde and under the bridge. Through the trees I can see and hear them falling. Something in that green hazy air doesn’t agree with the dead. I only hope it agrees with me.

End Transmission.