Esther Chilton

This week’s writing prompt is:

CRAZY THINGS YOU’VE DONE

Do you ever look back at a certain time in your life and think: Did I really do that? I remember canoeing on an outward bounds team building course with my work years ago. I’m not keen on water and was terrified of capsizing and getting stuck under the canoe. The waves were choppy and the water stung my face. The canoe wobbled and wavered, but I kept going. It was when we got back that the instructors announced they almost cancelled it because the conditions were so bad. I recall thinking, Now they tell us! But I felt proud of myself for getting through it. Never again, though!

What have you done that was either crazy at the time, or it feels that way now you look back on it. Or perhaps you can write a poem or piece of fiction and create something crazy for a character.

You don’t have to share your work, but I always enjoy seeing what you come up with if the prompt gives you inspiration. Your last prompt was TRANSPORT. Here’s the writing you shared:

Christine Mallaband-Brown:

Transport; I wish I could still cycle, but I stopped a few years ago. Driving a car didn’t help; the more I used the car the less I used the bike. That was because I had a accident that damaged my bike so it came apart while I was riding it a year later. It took a year to get it fixed and in the meantime I got the car. I used that for work and to travel further with my hubby. I did keep cycling for a few years, but as I say I gradually lost my fitness and confidence. I still have the bike, it’s in my house. It’s a classic, I hope one day someone else can use it.

Kim Smyth:

As you know, we transport around in the motor home we live in but when not we have the Jeep. I miss my Honda, but we had to sell everything and get cash cars to stay debt free. I’ve finally been on a train, I’ve flown on an airplane, for our honeymoon last, that’s been almost forty years ago!! I’ve been on a massive ship twice for a cruise. But what I really want is to ride my new bike, but until my back is better, that’s a no-go.

The Bag Lady:

oh yes, let it happen
my captain, my captain
transport me
across the seas
to a villa sitting above the beach
where billowing white linens reach
the floor near an overstuffed bed
that being said
a romantic vision
might a careless decision
be made on an evening sweet
might never see a repeat
but the ocean waves copy the rhythm
for a brief moment I am in heaven
oh yes my captain
because even then
a different journey will begin
and I am transported.

Sexagenarian Scribbler:

I have travelled by car, boat and plane, but my favourite mode of transport has to be the train.

My earliest memory is at the age of six, when we came home after three years in Singapore, and our house was yards from the Central line tube going into London.

For the first few days I was forever looking out of the window as they went past: I loved the clackety clack of the wheels on the tracks.

As a teenager I would go up regularly to Oxford Street, and then at sixteen, commuted every day to to the City for work.

As I don’t drive I am a frequent train traveller, often going up to the Peak District to visit my son, or Cornwall to visit friends; with my Senior Rail Card, I treat myself to 1^st. Class.

A few years ago, we went on an organised rail holiday to Lake Garda, travelling through France and Switzerland. The railway system in Europe is so much better than ours, and going through the Alps on a double decker was a memorable experience.

One thing on my bucket list is to go on a sleeper train.

Australia, Canada, or the States would be my preferred route, I wonder now if they are a trip too far.

Probably more feasible is Paddington to Penzance!

Robbie’s Inspiration:

I remember sitting on the hard, cement curb, watching as the sun slowly started to sink below the horizon. The boy sitting next to me was shrouded in shadows, his features becoming less distinct in the growing twilight.

There were no signs of Dad’s car.

It was close to 6pm and I’d been waiting since school finished at 2pm. Dad had a tendency to get wrapped up in his work and forget about me waiting on the curb outside the empty school.

My heavy school bag lay on the ground next to me. An open book lay spine upwards on top of it. I’d been reading until Davin had cycled passed and decided to stop and keep me company. I was grateful for his presence. I’d shown him my drawings in the loose sand, created using a slim branch from a tree. Now, the pictures had been swallowed by dark shadows.

Finally, twin lights came into view, bright and enticing in the near night. Dad had remembered and come at last. I jumped up, picking up my bag and book while thanking Davin for waiting with me.

We headed towards home, some distance away for the next three months. Home to Mom. Home to my three younger siblings. Home to dinner.

Lonely afternoons

Sitting on hard, cement curb

Will he remember?

Tessa:

After a tasty breakfast of bacon and eggs, I headed to my bedroom to get dressed for the day. Yesterday, I had bought a new pair of pants made from a denim type of cloth, a fabric I prefer to wear. After I bought them, I noticed that the pants had belt loops, and I didn’t have a belt to hold them up. As I pondered what to do, I noticed a roll of twine, which was made from the jute plant. Gripping the scissors, I debated how long of a piece of twine I needed to make a belt of some type since I needed something to hold them up.

It was almost time for me to leave to transport the school board candidate to the scheduled meeting of the school board candidates. As I drove, the candidate was practicing his speech. I honestly couldn’t believe the things he was saying. Where did he get this stuff? No one would believe he would achieve the proposed goals he was promising. I honestly didn’t want to listen to his words anymore. I hated politics, but my current job had me driving them around from place to place as they met with the people who would hopefully vote for them.

He finished practicing his speech just as we pulled up in front of the building where he was speaking today. I couldn’t wait to see the back of him. I would have to come back in a few hours to pick him up and take him home again. I was free until he was done at the school board meeting. 

The previous week’s prompt was SPORT. Here’s a memory from Roberta Writes:

Ostrich Girl (shadorma prose)

When I was ten years old, my family relocated from Cape Town back to the small town of George in the Western Cape. I attended a convent with a limited number of children. Despite our small numbers, the nuns cajoled all of us into participate in sporting activities, including swimming and athletics. Our headmistress also entered teams into local sporting competitions.

I was two years younger than the majority of my classmates, so I had to participate in athletics with a class two grades below my own. At the running trials, Sister Agatha discovered that I was the fastest runner in my school, and she put me on the team. I didn’t want to run with a class other than my own, but there was no denying Sister Agatha.

It was at my first athletics meeting that I discovered I had a most peculiar style of running. I competed in several races and won them all but afterwards the other kids teased me. “Ostrich Girl,” they called, hooting with laughter. One boy demonstrated my odd running style, stretching his neck forward as far as possible and racing across the field.

I was so embarrassed I never competed in athletics again.

Ostrich girl

Head thrust far forwards

Legs pumping

Dust flying

Unkind moniker destroyed

Sporting confidence.

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