So Friday night was spent mainly running around a football pitch in a monsoon, a post match beer and then home for a glass of wine with the better half. It then suddenly dawned on me that I had forgotten to check Flash! Friday‘s blog for the weekly prompt. So under the influence I shambled online intending to write down the first thing that hit me with the prompt. I recall typing something, hitting submit, and then heading off to bed.
Consider it my Hemingway moment. Well the write drunk part anyway, I kinda omitted the edit sober part of the system.
So I’m sure you’ll appreciate my surprise/delight at being accorded the Runner Up spot. Made up for the hangover that I spent Saturday with.
Anyway the photo prompt was this:
And the tale that came into being is below, hope you enjoy.
The sycamore pod that Art threw from his pick-up flatbed spun lazily in the air. Mirroring the hypnotic descent of the parachutists dropping out of the sky. Art lay back, watching the skydivers attempting to defy gravity, sipping away at his bottle of whiskey, toasting each one in turn.
He was glad to see them. Harbinger Point, a remote locale, of dead trees and panoramic views had been Lara’s favourite place. They had even begun their courting here, back in the day when people used such words. If she was here now she’d be demanding to parachute, yet there had been obstacles to most of her dreams, be it money, time or Art himself.
Yet here he was, without her, two weeks since she had passed. Art took another slug of whiskey, this time with a handful of pills. He retched, holding it in, forcing another cocktail down.
Before long he was free falling back to her.
Parachutist @ Ft Lewis. Public domain photo.