Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by Susan Spaulding, who has taken over this great weekly prompt from my old friend Al Forbes.
This week’s photo is by Fandango, about whom, I am embarrassed to say, I know nothing. But I did once skip a light one before turning cartwheels across the floor.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in the picture (below).
Click on this link to enter your tale, and see what others have written.
Click here to hear the author read the tale:
They rock in unison.
Very gently, back and forward, back and forward.
When one stops, the other stops.
They are old and decrepit, creak with every movement.
And the chairs are worse.
But seriously, the couple are getting on, well into their eighties, I’d say.
They sit, side by side, in their little garden, blankets over their laps.
If any neighbour draws near she comments acerbically, verbally attacking their children, their curtains, their new car, whatever.
People keep their distance.
She nags him constantly.
She criticises his clothes, which look as though he hasn’t changed them since the heyday of Rock ‘n’ Roll.
She criticises his hair, which is practically non-existent, a wispy, white tonsure.
She criticises his lack of energy, for always sitting, rocking, in the garden.
He speaks seldom.
When he does it is a murmured ‘Lord, give me peace!’
When I pass this morning she is there alone, dragging her chair towards the house.
‘Is everything okay,’ I ask, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she snaps, ‘He fell, he’s confined to bed.’
I mumble commiserations, ask why she doesn’t enjoy the sunshine herself.
A tear escapes her wizened eye.
‘He can’t hold my hand from upstairs.’