Bastet’s Sunday Writing Prompts: Power Shorts 3

For Bastet’s Sunday Writing Prompt on the 13th Floor Paradigm.

Lake Garda

Power Short

The Departure

Giulia looked into Robert’s eyes.

“What time do you leave?” he asked her.

“8:30. Walk me to my cat.”

They walked down to the docks, he carrying her duffle-bag.  Reaching the “Beaux Gest” they crossed the gangplank and went on-board.

“It’s only for around a month, then I’ll be back.”

“I know…but a month is so long.”

He wrapped her in his arms, resting his head on hers. She felt her heart pull between her two loves.

“I’ll be waiting for your calls.”

They kissed passionately then he left.

Raising the main sail she began her first solo Atlantic crossing.

8 thoughts on “Bastet’s Sunday Writing Prompts: Power Shorts 3

  1. For you, Bastet, I gave the Sunday Prompt a shot!
    ***
    POWER SHORT: WAITING

    “Are you sure you’ll be okay Nana?”

    She squinted up at the silhouette of her granddaughter, blocking out the sun so her face was a shadowy blur, automatically scanning the beach for the three children with the red curls so like their mother’s. So like their grandmother’s curls, once.

    “I’ve been coming to this beach for the past seventy-plus years. Go. I’ll wait here.” She waved away the younger woman’s concern and presence, opened her book under the shade of the old beach umbrella. She waited.

    She watched the young mother wander down to stand at the end of the dock, balancing her youngest on her hip while the two older children cast off their little Opti and proudly tacked between the larger boats.

    It used to be easier when there weren’t so many boats. She remembered those summer mornings, racing to the dock with Thomas, sailing their little boat through the much emptier bay. Her red silk scarf was their flag. And as they learned about sailing, they learned about life. Long afternoons in tiny coves, where two twelve-year-olds drifted, slept, tried out kissing, talked about sailing a bigger boat across the lake, across the ocean. Waiting to start their life. Together.

    One morning, her stomach cramped. Her mother showed her what to do, but said no more sailing with Thomas. On the third day that she didn’t come to the dock, her mother came into her room. The boat floated back, but Thomas was gone.

    Every day for the rest of the summer, she went to the dock and waited. Summer ended, but she was still waiting. She married one of the young men her brother brought home. Every summer she brought her children to the lake and showed them how to sail. She watched them go out in the little boats and she waited for them to come back. Eventually, they brought their wives and then their children. She waited for them too.

    Her granddaughter looked back at the empty space under the beach umbrella. “Nana?” There was a line of footprints down to the waterfront. Shading her eyes with her hand, she squinted out across the water. A small boat was almost invisible against the sunlight on the wakes of the larger boats, something red streaming in the wind. “Nana, where are you?” She waited.

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    • Fantastic haunting story! Not a power short, but a great read indeed! Are you going to post this on your blog Barb? I’ll accept you as a special entry. But, I tried to concentrate it down a bit and it came out like this, hope you don’t mind me having taken liberties…uhm, I’m waiting ;-):

      She squinted up at her granddaughter, “I’ve been coming to this beach for the past seventy-plus years. Go. I’ll wait here.” She waited.

      She remembered summer mornings with Thomas, sailing their little boat. Her red silk scarf their flag, as they learned about sailing and life. Long afternoons in tiny coves: they drifted, slept, tried out kissing, talked about sailing a bigger boat across the lake, then the ocean. They waited.

      One morning, her stomach cramped. Her mother said no more sailing with Thomas. On the third day that she didn’t come to the dock, her mother came into her room. The boat floated back, but Thomas was gone. She waited.

      She married one of the young men her brother brought home. Every summer she brought her children, then her grandchildren, to the lake showing them how to sail. She waited.

      “Nana?”

      There, footprints down to the waterfront, a small boat almost invisible against the sunlight, something red streaming in the wind.

      “Nana, where are you?” She waited.

      That’s still 168 words, but I don’t think you could cut it down more and still keep the integrity of the story. Repeating the “waiting” phrase, it comes off pretty close to a prose poem. You will enter it won’t you in either form…it should be read, so beautiful! (http://13thfloorparadigm.wordpress.com/2013/09/21/bastets-writing-prompts-power-shorts-3/)

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    • Thanks so much for participating, I’m really tickeled! You might not know as you were under radio silence, but I now also write on the 13th Floor Pardigm (that’s my link up there the green link above takes you, which I just corrected so it’s clearer). I put an “inlinkz” on the post and have just entered your link to it.

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  2. Pingback: Bastet’s Sunday Writing Post prompt | Barb Taub

  3. Pingback: Waiting for Autumn. (A #romance prompt) #WeekendBlogShare | Barb Taub

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