The Unicorn Challenge.
A magical new weekly writing opportunity from her – Jenne Gray – and me.
Visit her blog every Friday to see the photo prompt, and post your amazing story in her comments section.
Or on your own blog, and stick the link down in her comments.
The rules are:
Maximum of 250 words.
Based on photo prompt.
That’s it.
To hear me read my story, just click here:
30th May 1944
Northern France.
The last train to Paris shudders to a halt two kilometres outside Amiens, the next scheduled stop.
The passengers’ collective fear is confirmed by the single spat word, ‘Gestapo’.
As Wehrmacht soldiers wordlessly position themselves at either end of the carriage, the tension rises.
A tall slender man, hatless, fair hair neatly combed, his hands in the pockets of a long black coat open over a smart grey suit, strolls in.
‘Bonsoir Madame,’ he addresses the woman nearest the door in impeccable French. ‘Your papers, please.’
His sharp blue-grey eyes scrutinise the documents and he instantly suspects that Corinne Gouy is not in fact Corinne Gouy.
With him, suspicion normally equates to a death sentence.
His gloved hand returns her papers and accepts those of the man beside her.
He immediately doubts that Pierre Marceau is who he claims to be.
Moving on, and unconvinced by Monique Primault, he studies the remaining passengers, who stare at their hands or longingly through the windows.
No one meets his eyes.
He sighs, suddenly tired.
He no longer believes the bluster from Berlin, the news from the Russian Front is increasingly bleak, and he senses that the Allied landings are days rather than weeks away.
He leaves, quietly instructing the soldiers, ‘Bring them all. Every one.’
As the empty train hisses and clanks away, the driver and engineer exchange a grim glance.
Armand Fournier is an explosives expert, André Champenoy a master forger.
For them, the fight goes on.
Oh…that was good.
A really descriptive piece with a great ending. Nice one, C.E.
Merci, mon vieux!
Excellent.
Thanks, Chris.
Loved this – the tension of the passengers, the names of the passengers, one by one, the description, and then the thoughts and doubts of the ‘tall, slender man’, and that ending! Brilliant story.
Praise indeed, Margaret, for which I thank you.
All the names are people I’ve known, and I wanted to make the officer human but committed, regardless.
Glad it worked so well for you.
Chilling. Brilliant write, CE.
Thank you, Nancy.
Hugs
The art of story telling.
Damn!
Engaging (always present in a good story) but establishing tension (among the characters) that is, imo, such a tricky thing to pull off.
(A last-line hook, well, that’s icing on le gâteau)
Merci, mon brave.
I do so appreciate a good ‘Damn!’
The fear of being chosen. I have had the fear of NOT being chosen. In an early grammar school play one of the girls in my class would be chosen to sit in a crescent moon high above the stage wearing a beautiful gown with a crown and magic wand. The others would sit at her feet in pajamas. How I cried.
Of course I survived, but this was the first reaction to your entry.
Well, if my words provoke a thought, any thought, then I suppose I should be happy!
An engaging variation on ‘Only the Gestapo knocks on your door at 4 a.m.’
What a powerful piece.
The twist in the final lines.
Strong words evoking the horror and futility of war.
It’s superb.
And the nod to Corinne – if a cat should approach you today, you’ll know…
Sometimes they just seem to work, Jenne.
I did get bitten this morning…