Write The Story
I bought a book called Write The Story. It gives you a theme, then ten words to use in the story. Two words, in parentheses I did not include. I wanted to keep this at about 1,000 words and I was just over that. it was a fun thing to do, and any time you write it helps you be better at it. Enjoy.
Theme: A Dystopian Glimpse of the Future
Words: wheelchair, Labrador, (throne), jungle, prescription, railroad, trunk, gulley, wasp, (photo synthesize)
The sun broke out of the dark-cloud today, with a rarity of Halley's Comet I'm told, causing traffic to back up on the A-B expressway. The drivers are all slowing down to look up at the bright yellow ball in the sky that hurts your eyes when you look at it. I don't drive on the expressway luckily, as I'm not high enough up the food chain to own a car. I just walk along the expressway to and from work, as do many others on my level. If the rains are too hard, or the winds are too cold I ride one of the government Fleet-buses. But as the traffic is all but stopped, the buses would be also. I'll get to work faster today by walking.
The sun is warm on my skin, which has a translucent look to it. I've been warned, as have all the citizens, to avoid the sun on my skin, or in my eyes, as apparently it can cause burning. I envision my skin bursting into flames causing my clothes to ignite also and I would disappear into a ball of fire that would entertain the higher levels driving by in their government issued Fleet-cars.
Most of the people in the cars are panicking, not sure if the suns rays will cause their cars to stop working, burst into flames, or fail to stop, which we've all been told could happen. Hence the reason they are all driving slow, which has caused the traffic jam.
I notice Phillip ahead of me, his wheelchair having rolled off the Fleet-sidewalk into the grass. He is looking up at the sun with a large smile on his face. He's older than me and claims that when he was a small boy the sun was an everyday occurrence. it's his favorite subject to talk about, that, and when he could still walk. I just think he has eaten too many Morning Glory seeds, which he claims gives him a visionary and meditative consciousness.
"Phillip. You ran off the sidewalk," I say to him.
"David 'The Mood' Moody." Phillip says without even turning around.
"Can I get you back on the sidewalk? He looks down and notices he is in the grass, as if he hadn't realized it before I mentioned it. "It's the sun David. Just like when I was a child. Look at it!"
"That's what you said. You knew the sun."
"As if it were my brother."
Talking to Phillip is always interesting. He's in his late fifties, easily thirty years older than me, and he lived before the dark-cloud covered the sky. He talks of the sun as if it were a god. There were sun worshippers, he had said, with skin as brown as leather. I envision people with tough skin that creak when they move and need to cover themselves in leather cream to keep from cracking.
I roll his wheelchair backwards onto the sidewalk, the wheels have left ruts in the damp soil. People walking past us look at the mud on his tires and the ruts in the grass, some shake their heads, others whisper between themselves as they pass by.
"There's mud on your wheels. It'll track on the sidewalk." I tell him.
"Let it. It's nothing to fear." He sounds like a politician .
"You're not supposed to leave the sidewalk. You've damaged the grass," I say.
"It didn't hurt it," he reasons.
"People have passed by and noticed the mud. You know those on a level lower than us will turn you in, hoping to move up a level."
"You forget David, there is no level lower than the one I'm on. The handicap remember?"
I always forget that about Phillip. He's so self sufficient that I don't see the wheelchair as a handicap. His intelligence has no bounds, he has no limits to his thinking and reasoning. He should be on my level if not above me. The wheelchair will always hold him back.
I look at the mud on his wheels. There is too much just to wipe away with my hands. It looks like he rolled through a tropical jungle after a rain storm. This will leave tracks on the sidewalk for blocks. The others passing by will have to step over and around it. Anyone of them could be capable of reporting Phillips transgressions against the grass.
"I have to get to work." I say. I step around him and look back the way I came. Almost everyone has passed by now, there are very few walkers headed towards us.
"Yes. Get going David. I will see you tonight on our walk home."
I walk away, quickly, to make up for lost time. The dark-cloud in closing in on the sun, slowly but you can see that it is. I remember that I was supposed to take my prescription before I left home. I forgot. The sun came out and I forgot take it. I was told to take it every morning with breakfast. I also forgot my lunch, which is sitting on the kitchen counter in a brown paper sack, waiting too to be eaten by my black Labrador. I named him Steve. My bothers name is Steve. He didn't find it funny.
I come to the railroad tracks that I cross every morning. I stop, look, and listen, as we were all told to do. The Fleet-trains stream past so fast that you could look both ways and not see the train before it hit you. That's why you're supposed to listen. They have very loud whistles they blow prior to all crossings. Remember to listen.
As I cross the tracks I notice a trunk in a gully about fifty feet down. It's mostly hidden in the tall weeds. I almost didn't see it, except I also look both ways before I listen. That's when I saw it. It's old, like maybe from the times when Phillip was a child. It wasn't there yesterday. What is it doing there? It must have fallen off a train. Can that happen? I consider if I should step down to it and see what it contains. I envision a chest full of money, gold, and jewelry. I would be rich. Maybe stolen artwork from years ago. Then I envision someone seeing me, someone on a level lower than mine. They would rush past me, their face turned away from me, but their intentions known to me. No, better to be a wasp on a ledge than be an off-walker.
Theme: A Dystopian Glimpse of the Future
Words: wheelchair, Labrador, (throne), jungle, prescription, railroad, trunk, gulley, wasp, (photo synthesize)
The sun broke out of the dark-cloud today, with a rarity of Halley's Comet I'm told, causing traffic to back up on the A-B expressway. The drivers are all slowing down to look up at the bright yellow ball in the sky that hurts your eyes when you look at it. I don't drive on the expressway luckily, as I'm not high enough up the food chain to own a car. I just walk along the expressway to and from work, as do many others on my level. If the rains are too hard, or the winds are too cold I ride one of the government Fleet-buses. But as the traffic is all but stopped, the buses would be also. I'll get to work faster today by walking.
The sun is warm on my skin, which has a translucent look to it. I've been warned, as have all the citizens, to avoid the sun on my skin, or in my eyes, as apparently it can cause burning. I envision my skin bursting into flames causing my clothes to ignite also and I would disappear into a ball of fire that would entertain the higher levels driving by in their government issued Fleet-cars.
Most of the people in the cars are panicking, not sure if the suns rays will cause their cars to stop working, burst into flames, or fail to stop, which we've all been told could happen. Hence the reason they are all driving slow, which has caused the traffic jam.
I notice Phillip ahead of me, his wheelchair having rolled off the Fleet-sidewalk into the grass. He is looking up at the sun with a large smile on his face. He's older than me and claims that when he was a small boy the sun was an everyday occurrence. it's his favorite subject to talk about, that, and when he could still walk. I just think he has eaten too many Morning Glory seeds, which he claims gives him a visionary and meditative consciousness.
"Phillip. You ran off the sidewalk," I say to him.
"David 'The Mood' Moody." Phillip says without even turning around.
"Can I get you back on the sidewalk? He looks down and notices he is in the grass, as if he hadn't realized it before I mentioned it. "It's the sun David. Just like when I was a child. Look at it!"
"That's what you said. You knew the sun."
"As if it were my brother."
Talking to Phillip is always interesting. He's in his late fifties, easily thirty years older than me, and he lived before the dark-cloud covered the sky. He talks of the sun as if it were a god. There were sun worshippers, he had said, with skin as brown as leather. I envision people with tough skin that creak when they move and need to cover themselves in leather cream to keep from cracking.
I roll his wheelchair backwards onto the sidewalk, the wheels have left ruts in the damp soil. People walking past us look at the mud on his tires and the ruts in the grass, some shake their heads, others whisper between themselves as they pass by.
"There's mud on your wheels. It'll track on the sidewalk." I tell him.
"Let it. It's nothing to fear." He sounds like a politician .
"You're not supposed to leave the sidewalk. You've damaged the grass," I say.
"It didn't hurt it," he reasons.
"People have passed by and noticed the mud. You know those on a level lower than us will turn you in, hoping to move up a level."
"You forget David, there is no level lower than the one I'm on. The handicap remember?"
I always forget that about Phillip. He's so self sufficient that I don't see the wheelchair as a handicap. His intelligence has no bounds, he has no limits to his thinking and reasoning. He should be on my level if not above me. The wheelchair will always hold him back.
I look at the mud on his wheels. There is too much just to wipe away with my hands. It looks like he rolled through a tropical jungle after a rain storm. This will leave tracks on the sidewalk for blocks. The others passing by will have to step over and around it. Anyone of them could be capable of reporting Phillips transgressions against the grass.
"I have to get to work." I say. I step around him and look back the way I came. Almost everyone has passed by now, there are very few walkers headed towards us.
"Yes. Get going David. I will see you tonight on our walk home."
I walk away, quickly, to make up for lost time. The dark-cloud in closing in on the sun, slowly but you can see that it is. I remember that I was supposed to take my prescription before I left home. I forgot. The sun came out and I forgot take it. I was told to take it every morning with breakfast. I also forgot my lunch, which is sitting on the kitchen counter in a brown paper sack, waiting too to be eaten by my black Labrador. I named him Steve. My bothers name is Steve. He didn't find it funny.
I come to the railroad tracks that I cross every morning. I stop, look, and listen, as we were all told to do. The Fleet-trains stream past so fast that you could look both ways and not see the train before it hit you. That's why you're supposed to listen. They have very loud whistles they blow prior to all crossings. Remember to listen.
As I cross the tracks I notice a trunk in a gully about fifty feet down. It's mostly hidden in the tall weeds. I almost didn't see it, except I also look both ways before I listen. That's when I saw it. It's old, like maybe from the times when Phillip was a child. It wasn't there yesterday. What is it doing there? It must have fallen off a train. Can that happen? I consider if I should step down to it and see what it contains. I envision a chest full of money, gold, and jewelry. I would be rich. Maybe stolen artwork from years ago. Then I envision someone seeing me, someone on a level lower than mine. They would rush past me, their face turned away from me, but their intentions known to me. No, better to be a wasp on a ledge than be an off-walker.
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