Friday Fictioneers 7-1-2017

I’d greatly appreciate some feedback on this one.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Home

The street was cobbled, narrow, splashed with sun and shadow. I heard the distant tolling of St. Andrews ricocheting through blood and bone and marrow, sea songs deep where I had no control.

It was death I heard calling.

I stepped into the shadows, walking to the land of bones. Sun. Shadow. Sun. Shadow. Sun. Sea salt and brine. Nowhere else to run.

Drowning in air.

I felt the pain before I heard the shot.

Sand. Fish-rough hands. A hand grasping my shoulder.

The sea always calls home its own.

Pappa.

Falling, drifting, far out beyond land. The land of bones.

 

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers 7-1-2017

      • Yes, I’m happy to respond. I would say, I probably needed a little more information to understand what had happened. It’s lovely having phrases like, “Sun. Shadow. Sun. Shadow. Sun. Sea salt and brine. Nowhere else to run.” – that really drew me in, like poetry. Yet I wasn’t quite sure what “walking to the land of bones.” was referring to, whether the speaker was metaphorically going back to their ancestors’ gravesites, or if their own grave. The “I heard the shot” indicated the speaker might have been killed, but I wasn’t sure about that either. If you think of this as fiction, it wouldn’t hurt to add a bit more information for the reader, but if you think of it as a poem, then you may not wish to explain any more than you already have … does that make sense?

        Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s