The uprooted trees symbolised the turmoil in her thoughts, a burning itch of fire ants on her skin. The bitter drink aggravated the snake coiled in her belly, a mixture of freedom with the dread of discovery.
Last night’s tempest thundered like a herd of stampeding buffalo battering the hotel with spears of rain, and the window crashed across the room. She acted on impulse, a frenzied flash of angry until the bedsheets resembled an impressionist canvas of red.
Her cup rattled in the morning quiet. The train departs at seven and she will travel alone.
I am amazed how the BMW in Liz Young’s photo-prompt does not appear to have any damage, considering the wall and railings are in pieces.
You can read more Friday Fictioneer’s contributions and stories here.
She drives wearing high heels, rummages in her handbag and, at junctions, if she stops, she has to text the kids. When we are in the car, she will nag at me. You missed the kids’ school play and games day–-a crime in her eyes. The traffic accident held me up. I didn’t get home until midnight. Apparently, I never liked her Mum. Hell! the poor lady died before we met.
You are wearing the wrong shirt, and Martha will comment on it.
My thanks go to Dale for her picture of a flooded patio area, after a heavy rainstorm. Does this happen every year or just occasionally?
Many will suggest climate change as the reason for the flooding. Although climate change has been a constant drift over hundreds of years, we now know how this drift has sped up over the last tens of years. But as a planet of humans, are we heading for extinction?
Extinction is not a choice–Survivors
We stood in a circle and held hands. Everyone understood the ritual; our strength and fortitude were the foundations of the past and our future.
Greta, believe us; we will not move and live in the forests. Our generations have survived by this lake, our home.
We are the descendants from Lucy and accept Earth is a living monster of storms and earthquakes with an infestation of a multitude of life. As the environment changes, we will embrace technology and adapt.
Let us honour Mother Earth as she nurtures us.
We pray for humanity since extinction is not a choice.
This week’s picture prompt for Friday Fictioneers flash fiction showing an entanglement of trees and their roots is interesting for me. I spent some time trying to determine what the type of tree it was. I came up with–an American Beech or possibly Eucalyptus.
Legend tells of a Green Man and of an underground city dripping with gold and silver. Myth requires the first born in spring as a sacrifice at the roots of the great, grey tree to fertilise the forest and ensure an abundant harvest from our fields.
Everyone in Cronbourne keeps clear of the tree in May and we wear a sprig of silver birch to deter evil.
Martha laughed and went searching for hidden treasure. We continuously called and heard her mobile ring within the tree.
The autumn harvest was excessively rich that year.