Ozlem Yikici’s Transparent Tapestries prompts:
- Painting/Photography by an Artist: Maurice Utrillo’s Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, 1931 (It was this beautiful painting that planted the seed for my piece)
- Random lines of Poetry by Poets: Lighthouse by Gerard Woodward
- An Art Movement/Writing Genre: Purism
Haley Whitehall’s Dreams prompt:
- This challenge is dream inspired. Everyone has dreams of some kind–day dreams, nightmares, goals for the future, thoughts about being someone else or living a different life. (This prompt immediately brought my opening line to mind.)
In my dream, I make it home in time.
I walk right past the bookshelf near the checkout at the market. The light at Jackson and Vine is green. I pass the Town Square before Mr. Wilkes pulls out in his ancient station wagon, going fifteen miles an hour down the street. I cross the railroad tracks before the signal goes off and barriers come down.
When I get home, Sammie tackles me with a hug.
Louis hands me Benny and kisses my cheek before putting the groceries away.
Benny babbles and claps.
Sammie shows me the picture she drew while I was out.
We see the light in the sky through the windows. Hear that piercing whistle. That whomp.
We won’t make it out. Not any of us. But we’re together.
But I didn’t make it in time. I was stuck at the railroad crossing. On the other side of the longest train on earth. That’s where I was when I saw the light in the sky that turned the world black and white for a moment, like an old movie.
Or an episode of Twilight Zone.
Sometimes the dream is so vivid I forget it’s not real. I want to stay there, in the before world. I don’t want to be here alone in the after.
“Heads up, Nance.” Mark passes me a bottle of Jack Daniels he keeps in his backpack for outings like this.
I take a swig like a pro. I never used to like anything harder than a wine cooler but the whiskey has grown on me. When I’ve had my drink, I pass the bottle to Karen, the new one, on my left.
We roll on down Jackson in the back of Hank’s pick up. Past the Town Square. Past where the church used be. Past the railroad crossing that will never signal again.
Mark’s sixteen year old daughter Liz, the only other one of his family to make it, stares past us all.
I know what she’s looking at. If you look just right, you can see the ghosts of the buildings that used to stand here. The white ash on everything could be snow. There could be people walking down the street and across the square. Arm-in-arm.
“Where were you? Before?” Karen asks.
There are six of us in the back of the truck but nobody answers.
I look at the bottle of whiskey still in Karen’s hands. “I wasn’t home in time.”
Karen passes on the bottle without taking a drink. “I was–”
Mark rolls his shoulders. Tips his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “We’ll talk later. After. Gotta get ready now.”
Karen closes her mouth with a snap.
I look at the sky. “Barriston?”
Mark shakes his head. “Farmington.”
A groan goes around. Farmington was hit worse than us. A lot worse.
“Reports of survivors. We gotta go get ’em.”
I feel the weight of the gun across my thighs. “We’ll get there in time.”
No Write Thing Wednesday Blog Mash Up. It will return week after next.
What kind of dreams and stories do Haley’s and Ozlem’s prompts inspire in you?