Dear FridayFictioneers
I picked up my short in progress, working title Tariff Street, to march it on, to cajole it along, but that tree picture was niggling away. Another story needed to be told. I hope you do not mind indulging my imagination one more time this week on this inspiring photo prompt from Sandra Crook.
Her Tree by Kelvin M. Knight
There’s a tree here only she can see. A tree she has always seen, but never felt. This stone wall circling it is important. She put the stones here, carried them all herself. She built this wall, seeing and feeling everything: her boys regarding her curiously; her husband smiling nonsensically. Dear Matty and Ronnie, mud covers their faces like warpaint. They play with those shields he made. She took their swords away. Away to this tree. This tree she wishes she could not see. This tree that hurts yet knows nothing, of her life, of the monster inside her husband.
(100 words)
FridayFictioneers
We are a bunch of enthusiastic amateur and professional writers from across the globe who love drabble-sized flash fiction so much we share our little masterpieces with one another for commenting, critiquing and enjoyment. Our stories are based on a weekly photo prompt co-ordinated by our most gracious of hostesses, Rochelle.
If you would like to join in, please do. If you would like to read the other fine writers’ efforts, please click la’al blue froggy.
Kelvin M. Knight 
Sounds like as good a refuge as any, real or otherwise.
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Thanks, Sandra. The stones are also important for her too.
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Ouch – the last line stung – and I felt a three part energy in your piece – the middle was my fav and it resonated so much in my mind that I read it a few times – and wondered about the colon – but oh so good:
seeing and feeling everything: her boys regarding her curiously; her husband smiling nonsensically”
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Feel really sorry for her…
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A bittersweet tale of a woman’s refuge, which is probably the only thing keeping her sane. Beautifully descriptive.
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Thanks Magarisa. Yes, but I feel her sanity is slipping, has slipped, yet still she clings onto it. I think. But it doesn’t matter what I think, it’s what you see, think and feel that matters.
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To have a spot like this is so important when you need it the most.
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Definitely Bjorn. I often wonder if that’s why we have imaginations, why we tell stories, why it is a constant battle for a writer to avoid being self-indulgent. I suppose humility helps…
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As with all good flash, this leaves me torn between wanting to no more and being captivated by the mystery
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Thank you, eteinnehanratty, that is some compliment. I am glad you read and commented and want to know more.
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Dear Kelvin,
Sounds like the tree that only she sees is what we often refer to as the happy spot. The monster inside her husband sounds ominous and tragic…rounding out this tale. Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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A happy spot indeed, Rochelle, just a shame it has to be make-believe for her. Something unreal to deal with unbelievable behaviour… perhaps?
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