Dusk: #writephoto

photo from Sue Vincent

I dreamed this story Saturday night in response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt. Something a little different.


I can’t remember much bout that time, cept for the crazy animal fear. Like you weren’t in yer body but thrashing around outside yer skin, a thing gutted and clawing at some god to lift yer sorry ass outta there. Bombs pounded on our camp, and the screaming lay over the roar and rumble like I was trapped with a flock of gulls, and a pack of wolves were tearing at our throats, only it was worse than that.

And the reek of all them loose shits and us pissing in our pants, including mine. We were burrowed deep and bunched like rabbits, and it was blacker then death with yer eyes pinched shut. Already buried alive, I think. A funny thing how that situashun was better than being out there—tho I weren’t laughing. No, not at all.

Mason kep talking in that flat, butter voice of his thru the whole thing like he was telling lullaby stories come lights-out. I think Mason’s stories saved our asses on those days. Powerful stories bout life after the Reclamayshun, after the killing is worn out and we can go home.

Then my ears is ringing, and I’m breathing dust like I’m drowning. Some little kid’s keening so shrill it slices thru the exploshuns. And my heart is jumping on my ribs hard, and I know I jus gotta get out a there. It’s real bad, that feeling. My mind is so beat on like an old rug that it comes to me clean and clear—I got no choice in this life but where I’m gonna die. And I don’t wanna die jammed in a hole.

Then it all stop. All of it stop. The bombing and screaming and coffing up dirt. Mason makes us sit for seems a week until we gonna die from jus sitting still, already buried in our grave and starving to boot. When he say to give it a go, we dig out, and the world don’t look the same at all. It’s a hell place like the devil took a shovel and turned up the whole land for spring planting.

Mason stands atop the wreck and stares up at the dusk sky. There ain’t one single bomb raining thru the air. Little white puff clouds look fresh-washed and soft on that gold and blue, like a summer dress on a pretty girl. The world ain’t all broken up after all, and I think maybe Mason was right when he was telling us stories and promising hope.

Only Dialogue Allowed!

image from pixshark.com

image from pixshark.com

This one was hard! Yep, hard.

I continue to stick with my writing challenge – an attempt to complete the weekly writing lessons offered by Hubert O’Hearn’s Writer’s Pro Shop. This one is on writing dialog and here’s the link for more detail on the exercise: Writer’s Pro Shop, Exercise Three.

The gist of Lesson 3:

Write a 4-character scene using only dialogue. You may not identify the characters. Only the actual conversation can be written down. Each of your four characters must speak 4 to 6 lines or sides of dialogue. Your goal is that a reader knowing nothing of the scene should be able to determine what is happening as well as identify the individual speakers.

Here goes:

image from sojo.net

image from sojo.net

“Does my lipstick look okay? I’m running late. Oh, honey, I have a meeting after work, so you’ll have to handle soccer pick-up.”

“I made you breakfast. You said you wanted breakfast.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. No time. I gotta go.”

“Who’s gonna pick me up at soccer?”

“I can’t. Really, buddie. I’ve got a crazy schedule today. Someone else will have to chauffeur today. Oh, and I need my dry-cleaning dropped off. Can you coordinate the cleaners with picking him up?”

“I’ll have to check my busy laundry and vacuuming schedule.”

“Don’t get testy with me. It isn’t my fault you were laid off. And this role-reversal thing was your idea.”

“Can you two argue about the dork’s soccer ride somewhere else? I’m on the phone.”

“Don’t call people dorks. And we’re not arguing, just discussing the fact that someone doesn’t care that I’m busting my butt at the office all day.”

“And someone else doesn’t seem to have time for her family anymore.”

“So who’s picking me up? The coach gets mad when he has to drive me.”

“Hello, everyone. I’m still on the phone.”

“Go talk somewhere else, princess dork. You’re not the boss of everyone.”

“I can’t, Your Dorkness. I’m watching T.V. while I talk.”

“Alright, I’m leaving. I’m late and I’m done with this conversation. We’ll talk tonight.”

“Fine. Go to your meeting. And you, I’ll pick you up at five on the dot since I’m doing everything else around here.”

“Never mind. I’ll just ask the coach, and he’ll just yell at me.”

“O. M. G. I’ll call you later. I’ll pick him up, okay. I can’t wait ’til the summer’s over.”