Waves

Jun. 19th, 2010 09:30 am
vettac: (Default)
He stood silently on the rocks that jutted out from the shoreline, watching the waves crash against the rocks, spewing foam and churning sand along the beach.

It was early morning, and even the regular joggers had not made their appearance. This was the time that he liked to come, when the morning belonged to him and no one else.

He used to come out here as a child, when his father was still alive. The two of them would wake up early and go downstairs to the kitchen, treading softly so as not to wake his mother. His father would prepare their breakfast to go: apples from the garden, country cheddar cheese cut in bite-sized cubes and wrapped in long pieces of waxed paper, and a thermos filled with water and ice cubes from the freezer. They would whisper and giggle together as they stuffed the food into his father’s fishing bag. Then they’d tiptoe out the back door, and once outside, both of them would burst out into relieved laughter at not being caught.

But his mother had never been a morning person, so she’d never wake up to disapprove of the two of them sneaking out so early in the morning to walk down to the beach.

It had been their special time together.

But one morning, when he was twelve, his father had gotten up earlier than ususal and had not come to wake him up. When he had awoken on his own and gone to his parent’s room, he’d found that his father had already gone.

He rushed to get dressed and hurried out of the house, following the route that the two of them would make every Sunday morning for as long as he could remember.

When he got to their stretch of the beach, there was no one there.

But on the sand was the bag that they always carried with them.

With trembling fingers, he opened the top and found a slip of paper, folded in half with his name on it.

And he knew that his father would not be coming home.

Waves

Jun. 19th, 2010 09:30 am
vettac: (Default)
He stood silently on the rocks that jutted out from the shoreline, watching the waves crash against the rocks, spewing foam and churning sand along the beach.

It was early morning, and even the regular joggers had not made their appearance. This was the time that he liked to come, when the morning belonged to him and no one else.

He used to come out here as a child, when his father was still alive. The two of them would wake up early and go downstairs to the kitchen, treading softly so as not to wake his mother. His father would prepare their breakfast to go: apples from the garden, country cheddar cheese cut in bite-sized cubes and wrapped in long pieces of waxed paper, and a thermos filled with water and ice cubes from the freezer. They would whisper and giggle together as they stuffed the food into his father’s fishing bag. Then they’d tiptoe out the back door, and once outside, both of them would burst out into relieved laughter at not being caught.

But his mother had never been a morning person, so she’d never wake up to disapprove of the two of them sneaking out so early in the morning to walk down to the beach.

It had been their special time together.

But one morning, when he was twelve, his father had gotten up earlier than ususal and had not come to wake him up. When he had awoken on his own and gone to his parent’s room, he’d found that his father had already gone.

He rushed to get dressed and hurried out of the house, following the route that the two of them would make every Sunday morning for as long as he could remember.

When he got to their stretch of the beach, there was no one there.

But on the sand was the bag that they always carried with them.

With trembling fingers, he opened the top and found a slip of paper, folded in half with his name on it.

And he knew that his father would not be coming home.
vettac: (Default)
[Fiction] Friday:
Prompts are published each month to give you plenty of notice. Spend at least 5 minutes composing something original based on the theme or challenge. No editing allowed.

June 11th: Include this in your story: “I wish he’d knock on my door instead……..”




I huddle in the corner of the bed with my blanket draped around me. The power had gone out over an hour ago, and none of the hotel staff had come to check on anyone on our floor. Granted, we were on the tenth floor of a hotel in the middle of nowhere on an island at that time of year when not many tourists frequented. But that was no reason not to make sure that the guests were okay.

Okay, Steph, everything is going to be fine. I take a deep breath and pull the blanket closer around me while I wipe the sweat from my brow.

I hear a voice in the hallway and I perk my ears to listen.

Someone is knocking at the room adjacent to mine and calling out in a deep male voice.

“Hello, is anyone in there? Is everything okay?”

Obviously, no one is there, but he continues to knock, waiting for a response.

I wish he’d knock on my door instead, because I would certainly not keep him waiting. I am so ready to leave this place.
vettac: (Default)
[Fiction] Friday:
Prompts are published each month to give you plenty of notice. Spend at least 5 minutes composing something original based on the theme or challenge. No editing allowed.

June 11th: Include this in your story: “I wish he’d knock on my door instead……..”




I huddle in the corner of the bed with my blanket draped around me. The power had gone out over an hour ago, and none of the hotel staff had come to check on anyone on our floor. Granted, we were on the tenth floor of a hotel in the middle of nowhere on an island at that time of year when not many tourists frequented. But that was no reason not to make sure that the guests were okay.

Okay, Steph, everything is going to be fine. I take a deep breath and pull the blanket closer around me while I wipe the sweat from my brow.

I hear a voice in the hallway and I perk my ears to listen.

Someone is knocking at the room adjacent to mine and calling out in a deep male voice.

“Hello, is anyone in there? Is everything okay?”

Obviously, no one is there, but he continues to knock, waiting for a response.

I wish he’d knock on my door instead, because I would certainly not keep him waiting. I am so ready to leave this place.

July 2012

S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
293031    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 21st, 2017 08:41 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios