Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
Today I thought, when I first saw Al’s rather belated photo, two very different things.
One, Al is a numpty.
But he is a friend, and a good guy.
Two, I know nothing about horticulture.
Well, I am a Scot, so anything with ‘culture’ is a different world.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and see what others have written.
Copyright Al Forbes
Click here to hear me read the story:
Future Perfect
Everything is coming up roses.
I can see the future.
I am rich beyond belief.
It is too easy.
I can see how the stock market will move.
I can foresee the results of sporting events.
I cannot fail to make money.
Everything I was told was the truth.
He said he would let me see the future.
But for a price.
He promised my health would not be affected, nor any of my senses.
I would remain as active as before, still play rugby and my guitar.
He would not tell me the price in advance.
He said it was something I would not miss.
So do I?
It is hard to say.
You see, I can see the future, but not the past.
He took my memory.
I do not know who I am.
Heavy price to pay for that. Chilling. Beautifully written.
Thank you, Indira.
Indeed, perhaps too heavy for many of us?
Oh wow, what an amazing poem, and story you’ve teased us with! That really is a heavy paradox, being able to see the future but not remember the past or your own identity.
Thank you, Jade, I am happy to have stimulated some interesting thoughts.
I agree with so many other commenters — that is a heavy price to pay, indeed. Even more so because he doesn’t know what he’s lost. Were they wonderful memories? Horrible ones? Is he better off not knowing? And who is he, without his past? Interesting existential question.
Glad to have you thinking, Joy.
Lots of interesting questions, indeed, thank you.
I Like the twist!
Like we did last summer?
Hahaha! Don’t know what happened to my messages the last few days only just got this!
Reblogged this on Kate McClelland.
Very kind of you, I visited and thanked you.
That’s really a stiff price to pay. He lost his identity. It seems he’s a man without a country. Today, of course, that would be hard to do. Someone would trace you down, especially if you owed them money. Good writing, C.E. 🙂 — Suzanne
Laughing at ‘especially if you owed them money’!
I love your cynicism, Suzanne!
Some memories are best forgotten. Perhaps it was meant to be.
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True, but some are the best parts of our declining years.
Be careful what your wish for!
And hope you can remember what it was afterwards!
Excellent! You do have a way of winding up a story and then offering something unexpected, but very effective!
Thank you, Sascha, I do try not to be too predictable.
You succeed! 🙂
As others have said, we’re nothing without our memories. Great ending. And who is the ‘He’ in the story? Satan himself? Very mysterious.
Indeed, Iain.
And I leave you to decide within your own belief system, but that was my angle, yes.
We are nothing without memories – they make up who we are – so he’s basically given up his personality for this power. I’m with Rochelle – chilling stuff C. Youare the master at this ‘last line kicker’ fiction 🙂
You are too kind, Lynn.
Once again, if it made you think, then I am very happy.
My pleasure. And yes, a thought provoking, if tragic idea 🙂
That is a heavy price to pay. Not remembering loved ones, no cherished memories remain. But I suppose since he is pretty much taken care of, that does not worry him. Still, wouldn’t you have this blank space in your head where memories used to be, where experience comes from? Great write CE.
Hugs
Thank you, Amanda.
I see you have given the situation your usual careful consideration, so my job here is done.
Haha. Yes I have. Thank you 🙂
That is a very high price to pay indeed! I don’t think I would want to forget anything that I had done but I am not that bothered about the future either! Very well put together.
Thank you, Angie.
If you thought about the options and implications for just a moment, then I am content.
Excellent. Our true wealth is the stories we tell.
The true wealth is our stories. Nice one.
Nicely put, sir.
Then how can he write about what happened??
The clue is in the word ‘Fiction’, my delightful but contrary young lady!
Wow! That was great. Of course he wouldn’t miss his memories. He can’t remember them. Would I pay that price for something like that? No way.
Thanks, Al, seems you gave it some thought, so I am happy.
Yep, I thought about it for… oooh… about ¼ second.
Dear CE,
First, it fascinated me that you came up with that story for a picture of daffodils. Second, the story itself sent a chill through me. Memories would be a high price to pay, for who are we and what is life without them? Well imagined and constructed.
Shalom,
Rochelle
It kinda surprised me too, m’lady.
Chill is good, and it gave you pause, so I am happy.
Kafkaesque! Génial!
Sooo good.
In one sentence you remind us that we are, in any given moment, the sum of our past, that memory is tied to how we feel and what we know about ourselves.
I’ll quit now.
Jings, Em, I didn’t realise I was so profound.