Yesterday, I had a meeting at the Constant Spring Golf Club so I used the opportunity to get a picture of the area leading to the first hole. Also got a shot of a massive French Peanut Tree. If you have sensitive sinuses, you don't want to be near this tree when it has blossoms. It’s not a good picture, but it was the best I could do, considering my first priority was supposed to be that meeting I mentioned. Yeah, you caught me.
The grinning lad is my son on his first day back at school and the other picture is me sitting in his classroom, waiting to meet his new teacher. In the event that my ramble about the photos have bored you to tears, scroll down to the first challenge in the Platform Building Campaign. I’ll probably use this snippet when I get back to writing that book I talked about over at Carol Kilgore’s on Wednesday.
|Entrance to CSGC|
|French Peanut Tree|
|First day back at school for youngun.|
|Parent waiting to meet new teacher.|
The challenge is to write 200 words beginning ‘The door swung open’ I’ve added the challenge of ending with ‘the door swung shut.’ You can see a list of the other entries here. I guess I could call my entry Assault & Battery.
The door swung open.
A shaft of light cut the gloom.
Corra raised her head, resurrecting a drumbeat of pain across her forehead. Her good eye was blurry, but the unmistakable shape of a man approached.
She stiffened her spine, anticipating more abuse.
He walked around her and then stopped in front of the chair, his knees touching hers. In the silence, air whistled through his nostrils. The whistling would intensify as he exhausted himself battering her into submission.
He leaned forward and the combination of musty clothes and overripe armpit sent Corra’s stomach into revolt. She gagged and then cleared her throat of stomach acid.
His gravelly voice assaulted her ear. “See what you get for crossing him?”
A whimper escaped her swollen lips.
He took her response as insolence and a fist crashed into her forehead. A second blow flung her neck against the back of the chair. Blinded, she prayed she would black out faster than the last time.
“Maybe he’ll shoot you, or frame you for that murder. Either way he wins.”
The words acted like a wallop to the gut, stealing her breath.
He chuckled, crossed the cement floor again and the door swung shut.
(200 words )
If you like my flash, go here and vote for number 363. Have a wonderful weekend and meet some writing goals!