Gibberish
Nudged into life
I haven’t been writing much fiction … to be honest, there have been other things to do. Spring is in the air down on our tiny farm in rural France so there are fruit trees to prune and the meadow to mow.
But the words, what about the words?
Maybe I need to just write, right?
In the nick of time Scoot popped up with a handful of enticing prompts:
Soft snow weighs down lightly on the gossamer thin tent. The rippling sides are alternately taut and slack, silent or cracking like a bull whip as howling winds assault the craggy ridge we can no longer see. Our route taunts us with its proximity. The prize is but a few hundred feet from our refuge. But snow devils whipped up in the maelstrom have swirled into the hollows made by our boots, adding tricksy malevolence to the art of navigation. Wraith-like figures offer themselves as icy-faced partners, inviting us to a macabre dance. The temptation is strong, to supplicate ourselves to their trickery, to accept them as guides. But reason stills us. The decisions weigh heavily but patience is the answer, whatever questions we throw at the weather gods.
“Will we make it?”. His enquiry is muffled by the suffocating cloak wrapping itself around us.
“It sounds like it might be getting calmer.”
A pause. “That’s not what I asked”.
“How much food do you have left?”
“It’ll be daylight soon”.
“And that is not what I asked”.
Follow the link to Scoot’s full post and check out the comments or Chat for other folk’s submissions:
Artfully done Barrie! I loved this line especially "But snow devils whipped up in the maelstrom have swirled into the hollows made by our boots, adding tricksy malevolence to the art of navigation".
“Wraith-like figures offer themselves as icy-faced partners, inviting us to a macabre dance.” Very nice!