The February 25 2021, prompt from Charli at Carrot Ranch this week is to: “In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the word frozen. It can be descriptive, character focused, action driven. Go out onto the ice and find a frozen story. Go where the prompt leads!” Join in. You have until March 2nd to submit your story, published on the 3rd.
Every visit I am grateful for the window, though it’s always shut tight against any air. Today tapered icicles hang down from the eaves, their steady drip in the late winter sun inaudible through the panes, replaced by my mother’s hollow chirping.
I sense my mother is afraid to come here alone. She tells me her granny enjoys seeing me but the old lady never even looks up. Says nothing. Just sits there.
Feels like 80 degrees in this room. As always, Granny’s bundled in thick socks, a lap robe, and a shawl.
Still she just sits there, frozen.
The beginning of your story didn’t take me to where I thought you might be describing. It’s sad when the story of the life of one we care for becomes frozen, and only they hear the words from within that we desperately want to record.
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Yeah, I like this one better than the sasquatch one. This is one of those I had the last and first lines come to me then just had to shake it out.
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Hmm. So much cold and sadness. Is Granny really frozen? I wouldn’t blame Mum for not wanting to visit alone.
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It’s a tough spot for sure.
Thanks for visiting here, Norah.
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It’s so weird to see a tale from you that does not involve Kidd and humor, but I guess it just shows that I don’t read your stuff often enough because a scroll through your feed reveals how diverse your writing is.
This is so sad. The virus and the lockdown certainly made it easier to ‘freeze.’
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I am happy you found something besides the Ranch Yarns to read. Those are a sideline, characters I’m saddled with.
Thank you for coming by!
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Time takes a toll on everyone.
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Yep.
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What a portrait of a story. This one sticks with me.
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Thanks. It took its time coming but there it is.
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Fear can shut us down as much as cold. I like how you move from the icicles outside to the ice within. Is the next installment the mother’s POV? I want to know what she’s scared of.
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Is that what you writers do, Ms. Goodwin? Pick at a story, poke at a character? Work them over? I just felt lucky for the idea of the icicle outside the stuffy smelly room (had to leave the smell out of such a short piece) lucky to get that idea 99 word coherent. Didn’t really know the word catatonia until reading your flash. (though I do recognize that my cat is catatonic just now in front of the fire) Is there such a thing as canineonia, a state of incessant panting and drooling and pulling at leashes both real and imagined?
What might she be afraid of? I don’t know. I only saw icicles from a kid view. Maybe she’s afraid that her granny will die. That her granny will never die. That she herself will end up in that state, in a place like that. That her granny won’t remember her. Or that she will. Maybe afraid she will suffocate in that stuffy closed window room.
This challenge you set is a leash upon my collar. Ruff.
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We writers not you writers! Is there such a thing as canineonia? There is now.
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