A killer parasite that can be cured but that also creates a new dilemma. We’ve all faced something dead, or dying. Sadly. That’s the nature of life. We’re all on our way to that final destination. Here is your prompt: Write a story that starts with the like “It started with a dead________ (fill in the blank).
It started with the dead of night. I was driving a country road through the redwoods in a remote part of Northern California. No towns. No houses for miles. The light of a full moon flooded the land to a spectral grey. I rolled my windows down and switched the lights of my '78 Opel to "off"---and then I glided slow, very slowly, through the lunar nightscape. In the dim light I could see fence posts and towering trees. Stumps of felled giants. I rolled on like that, quiet. Illicit.
After a short time I turned the lights back on with a click.
The light startled a wild boar. It was big. 300 pounds, the size of a fat black bear. He fell off the embankment to my right. Fell onto the road and slammed broadside against the front of my car. Then bounced right down the steep ravine on the other side ---and was gone.
I drove home lights on. My car smelled like pig shit.
It started with a dead______. I can’t find the words to follow this. I flip through my memory bank, its withdrawals slowly dwindling I might add, to find a dead _______ to write about. A rift with my neighbor in rural Oregon started with a dead pig but I didn’t see the body. How was I to know the crimson blood seeping into several inches of fresh snow was the aftermath of her amateur slaughter of Louis, her daughter’s pet? It’s not a very interesting story and still irks me. If the prompt stated: It started with the death of______ I could fill in the blank with my mother, Jimmy, Warren, Sandy, Nils, Dona, Jeff, Ted, Judith and on and on. Each name holds more than one story. The list gets longer each passing year as I knock on the door of eighty. This Memorial Day I honor the loss of loved ones, people and animals, who have touched my life, and all those who have departed, leaving the rest of us behind. The cycle doesn’t rest. We will all get a turn.
A human mom to many species of woodland creature over the years, I have many animals that could fill that blank, sadly. Every death I see or experience hits differently, bringing grief and complexity and simplicity and lessons I couldn't have imagined to learn with it.
What a story! Wow! I've only got a pile of dead rodents to share. But it feels as though you are being offered the makings of another book. And a timely one at that. You are living the post-pandemic dream. And dreams are never reality. 💫
Your Turn:
We’ve all faced something dead, or dying. Sadly. That’s the nature of life. We’re all on our way to that final destination.
Here is your prompt: Write a story that starts with the line: “It started with a dead________ (fill in the blank).
It started with the dead of night. I was driving a country road through the redwoods in a remote part of Northern California. No towns. No houses for miles. The light of a full moon flooded the land to a spectral grey. I rolled my windows down and switched the lights of my '78 Opel to "off"---and then I glided slow, very slowly, through the lunar nightscape. In the dim light I could see fence posts and towering trees. Stumps of felled giants. I rolled on like that, quiet. Illicit.
After a short time I turned the lights back on with a click.
The light startled a wild boar. It was big. 300 pounds, the size of a fat black bear. He fell off the embankment to my right. Fell onto the road and slammed broadside against the front of my car. Then bounced right down the steep ravine on the other side ---and was gone.
I drove home lights on. My car smelled like pig shit.
Nicely done, Eamon. It started with the dead of night...
It started with a dead______. I can’t find the words to follow this. I flip through my memory bank, its withdrawals slowly dwindling I might add, to find a dead _______ to write about. A rift with my neighbor in rural Oregon started with a dead pig but I didn’t see the body. How was I to know the crimson blood seeping into several inches of fresh snow was the aftermath of her amateur slaughter of Louis, her daughter’s pet? It’s not a very interesting story and still irks me. If the prompt stated: It started with the death of______ I could fill in the blank with my mother, Jimmy, Warren, Sandy, Nils, Dona, Jeff, Ted, Judith and on and on. Each name holds more than one story. The list gets longer each passing year as I knock on the door of eighty. This Memorial Day I honor the loss of loved ones, people and animals, who have touched my life, and all those who have departed, leaving the rest of us behind. The cycle doesn’t rest. We will all get a turn.
Nice: A rift with my neighbor in rural Oregon started with a dead pig
A human mom to many species of woodland creature over the years, I have many animals that could fill that blank, sadly. Every death I see or experience hits differently, bringing grief and complexity and simplicity and lessons I couldn't have imagined to learn with it.
Great way to call it...human mom.
What a story! Wow! I've only got a pile of dead rodents to share. But it feels as though you are being offered the makings of another book. And a timely one at that. You are living the post-pandemic dream. And dreams are never reality. 💫
Oh my gosh, still have the rats?? 🐀 🐀🐀 🐀🐀 🐀🐀 🐀?? I'm so sorry. In such a lovely home, too.