Today at writer's group we had a prompt that sprang from a picture. We were prompted to write about what we see in the picture. It was a run-down two story house protected with thorny bushes and "no trespassing" signs. This is what came from my brain. I am thinking about messing with it a little, making it longer and more developed maybe... or keeping it as is... I don't often get back to projects once I've let them sit for more than a few minutes without attention.
"Burning Down The House"
It was Thursday. I could tell by the clickity clack of Denise's crochet needles. What would it be this time? A scarf? It's 92 degrees outside. A blanket? It's 92 degrees outside. A vest? I have 92. But, clickity clack, clack clack clack.
It's all bull.
I spend my time in the fields. Busting my hump while she clickity clacks away. I harvest the wheat in 92 degree heat. What does she do? Clickity clack, clack clack clack.
How many miles of yarn has she spun now? Story after story about how when she was younger all she heard was clickity clack, clack clack clack. Wearing those UNGODLY vests. Couches covered in HORRENDOUS afghans. But no, she sits there, telling her stories while I bust my hump in 92 degree heat harvesting the wheat.
How much can she talk? Yak, yak, yackity yak. Talking about the stories -- I bet they aren't true. Who would spend time in 92 degree heat when we have machines with air conditioning? Talk Talk Talk, does she even take time to drink any water? Can't she be like a normal grandma who crochets and talks to her grand-kids through cookies and milk?
All we do is sit in the air conditioning, looking at pictures of what used to be. Complaining about what might have been, but as always, there is no trespassing on the past.
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