Debbie Whittam sets this challenge every Thursday, to write a poem or story in 50 words, or multiples of 50 up to a maximum of 250 words, inspired by a picture and include some particular lines.
This is the story I wrote last week:
Ever since the air raid sirens had gone off and the bombs had started dropping, she had been trying to make it home. Despite living and working in the city for seven years, home to her was still the farmhouse, miles to the south, where her brothers and her mother still eked out a living from that dry old soil.
The world had descended into chaos, people pushing and shoving, there were gunshots coming from every direction. By making herself very dirty and crawling along the ground she’d managed to escape from the hell that the city had become.
After several days of sneaking she had made it to the farm.
She stood gazing at the remnants of the kitchen. It seemed to bring the reality of the situation crashing down. She began to cry.
A hand was around her mouth and someone whispered.
“You better watch out, you better not cry. They’ll hear you. They’re everywhere.”
It was her brother, Zach.
She turned and threw her arms around him.
“Quick, This way,” Zach said as he grabbed her hand and half dragged her out to the old barn. They had built a tornado shelter there after the weather had turned crazy.
She climbed down the ladder into the dimly lit chamber followed closely by Zach who slammed the door closed.
Her other two brothers were there too, Eben and Joe.
“Where’s Mother?” She asked, but the blank stares of three pairs of eyes was the only answer she received.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 13/December/2018