Ozlem Yikici’s Tritych Trials prompts:
- Painting/Photography by an Artist: William Marlow’s Capriccio: St Paul’s and a Venetian Canal, circa 1795
- Random lines of Poetry by Poets: Defying Gravity by Roger McGough
- An Art Movement/Writing Genre: Mannerism
Billie Jo Woods’ Twisted Freedom prompt:
- Independence and freedom with a twist. For this challenge you can write in any genre you wish but your piece must include some sort of twist on the traditional fight for freedom or independence story.
Avery made the last fold and held the thing in her hand. A perfect paper airplane.
She looked at the picture over Daddy’s desk. “St Paul’s and a Venetian Canal.” She traced the water, leaving a smudge.
Avery stood on the balcony, listening to the quiet. No birds. No dog barking.
She cocked her arm and swung it forward, hurtling the plane into the air. She watched until it landed in the yard. Further than any of the others but not far enough. Daddy could make them fly to the mailbox.
Avery held the purple shirt. Mama always wore it with a big silver belt and tight pants. Skinny jeans, Mama called them. Avery lay down in her bed, hugging Mama’s shirt, and closed her eyes.
Maureen stood over the bed. Her purple tunic top lay across the rumpled bedspread. She picked it up. Pressed it to her face. Smelled her daughter. “Avery.”
Sam held a grass-stained paper airplane. “Another one, Dad.”
Gary took the plane without looking at the boy. “Go start your homework.” He slipped the plane into the desk, picked up the Windex and sprayed the glass over the Marlow print, wiping away a smudge.
Maureen finished her wine. “Found my shirt in her room again.”
Gary grunted, mouth full of spaghetti.
Sam bobbed his head along with whatever music fed through his earbuds.
Gary swallowed. “We’ve been over this, babe. I–You–”
“You really think I’m doing this to myself?” Maureen slammed her glass on the table.
“There are doors between here and there, Mr Walker,” said the man in the tweed jacket.
Who wears tweed? “Here and where?”
“Many places. Some are between places. Like where your daughter is.”
Gary rubbed his temple. “Where is that?”
“Here but not here.”
“Okay. Enough. You need to leave. Now.”
Gary watched the man, the sensitive, leaving.
Tweed looked back at the house. “She’s here. Can’t find her way back. Give her a thread to follow, Mr Walker.”
Gary stood by the mailbox. Listened to the birds. To a dog barking.
Something brushed his shoulder, landed at his feet. A paper airplane.
He turned and looked back.
The balcony was empty.
Gary snatched up the plane, hands shaking. Saw smudge of pencil on the wing. Unfolded the paper. Looked at the crooked writing.
I’m still here.
Gary jerked the drawer open. Paper airplanes spilled out. He unfolded them all.
Where are you?
Gary looked at the print. Saw another smudge over the canal.
He grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil.
Gary stood beside the mailbox. He cocked his arm and swung it forward, hurtling the plane into the air. His watched until it vanished.
Gary ran toward the house, scanning the ground.
He ran inside. Up the stairs. Onto the balcony.
Gary sank to the ground. Covered his face.
“Gary!” Maureen’s voice. Almost hysterical. “The basement. Oh my–”
Sam calling, “Daddy!”
Another voice. Tiny. Sweet. “Mommy? Daddy?”
No Write Thing Wednesday Blog Mash Up. It will return the week after next.
Also, the Twitter Hashtag Hula page is under construction and coming soon!
Tell me, what do the terms “twisted freedom” and “defying gravity” mean to you? And what do you think would be on the other side of a door between worlds?