You’re not going to believe this.
This week, I actually wrote the story cube story on Monday. No, not so late last night that I couldn’t focus on the keyboard anymore, on MONDAY. What’s happening? I feel like I don’t know myself anymore.
I don’t want to jinx everything by saying that writing all of this getting easier with time. Especially not after seeing the cubes for week 5.
Not to discourage you, or anything. 😛
These are the hero cubes for week 5.
Does anyone even build a hero? I’ve only done it once, though I did use the hero cubes as part of the story last week. Maybe I should just try harder. 😛
Here’s the story for week 5.
And here’s my story.
Story Cubes – Week 4
The welcome to this wretched place is a rickety old bridge. Murky water streams underneath, just visible by the light of a flickering streetlamp, swarming with mosquitoes and moths. “Ugh.”
Even as a child, I detested it here – all of it – from the country scene to the bridge to the insects. Fine, that’s a lie. I didn’t hate everything.
The bridge doesn’t seem stable, but what choice do I have but cross it? I can either stay or go, and staying means being eaten alive by a swarm of insects. Who knows when another thing with wheels will pass here? With my luck, it’ll probably be some kind of farmer with a wagon anyway.
I start walking.
As if the flight over hadn’t been bad enough next to that sweat-smelling space-hogger, my luggage was lost and I couldn’t find a taxi. Oh, no, I had to ride over with the midnight bus, empty, except for the few weirdo’s who seem to prowl the streets at night. One of them, a guy with a glass eye, leered at me the whole time.
Now, all I have is my overnight bag and the toothbrush I got on the plane, and the long walk up to the river house. Thunder crashes overhead. “No, no, no, no!”
A quicker pace gets me right at the start of the dirt road when the raindrops start to plop into the ground. Little craters form around my feet. “What next!” As if screaming at the heavens will make a difference.
The sky rumbles its laughter deep in its chest, then punishes my insolence. Clouds explode like water balloons thrown by cousins wearing bathing suits in gramma’s backyard, and my brand new Louboutin’s slosh in the muck.
I shudder as I pull off my heels and mud squirts between my toes. My footprints wash away as soon as I lift my feet, now running in the dark.
Memory and instinct lead me up the right way and soon, the light from the house becomes visible on the path. I gasp. It hasn’t changed at all, and yet, it’s completely different.
Rain blurs my vision. It’s the rain, okay? I knock like a crazy person and I’m mud-stained and soaked when Amy opens the door.
“Hi Abs. Y’all! It’s Abigail!”
“Come on in, you’re soaked.” Amy takes my overnight and my arm. “You look like crap.”
“Gee, thanks, cuz.”
“And where is your ton of luggage?”
“It got lost, Amy, okay?” No need to bite off her head.
Gram’s house is warm and dry. It’s also filled to the brink with bouquets and pots of flowers – as if someone here would still have the need to plant them. Sometimes, the reality of these situations seems to pass some folks by.
Everyone is here. I’m always amazed how we can all greet each other and go on as if it hadn’t been months, sometimes years, since we last saw each other.
Daniel brings a cup of coffee, just the way I like it. How he remembers how all of us take our coffee is above me.
“The grownups are in the bedrooms and the rest of us are sleeping in the living room. You know, like when we were kids,” Chris says as he hands me a towel.
“We’re all grownups.”
“Not in this house, we’re not.” Amy laughs.
I find a corner, away from all of the photos of our childhood, and dry the worst as I drink my joe. I check my phone. No signal. “I should have stayed in the city.”
“That would have killed her, Abby.” Uncle Ted shifts the vases around to make a space for a new bouquet, then puts a hand on my shoulder.
His touch is warmer than my blush – I didn’t think anyone heard me.
“That would bother me more if she wasn’t already dead.” My voice cracks. I get up and go to the bathroom. Fine. It isn’t the damn rain, I’m crying, if that makes you feel better.
Old people die, I know. But my gramma shouldn’t have gone – not yet. I should have come here more. I should have spent more time at the old lady’s feet, listening to her stories. I should have cherished every moment, to build up a store of memories for the day real contact was lost. “I didn’t do enough.”
“You did plenty.”
Of course it would be Amy who barges into the bathroom. Closed doors mean nothing to her.
She drapes herself around me. “Oh, Abbels.”
I sob. This is weakness, I know, but I could more easily stop a tsunami with a spoon, than turn off the waterworks. “What the hell now, Amy? She’s gone and I don’t know how to get through this storm! How do we survive this?”
She smiles, just the way Grams used to. “Oh, Sweetheart. Like we always do. Together.”
I’ve been playing around with writing in first person POV, because it’s something I dislike so much. If you’ve been around the blog, you’ll probably know this about me. I really don’t like reading first person. Writing it, however, is so easy. I’m kind of shocked about it. Maybe it comes from blogging, because everything on the blog is first person? I don’t know.
I’ve also had my grandmother on my mind, if you couldn’t tell. Dealing with grief sometimes takes a lot of time.
I hope you have an awesome weekend.