Flash Fiction

Almost Wordless Wednesday – #13

In a distant, neglected corner of the Bonnywood Manor gardens, at the end of a long-forgotten path, one can find this sad tableau of decay.

Your writing prompt this week, should you accept the mission, is to help us understand what led to this woeful and sepia-toned vista.

What happened here? (Did everyone get out alive?)

Is this the result of the infamous free cocktails served every afternoon in the faded glory days of the Manor? (Clara, honey, you’ve had twelve. Dial it down a notch before you do something stupid.)

Why do folks no longer visit? (Is it haunted? Do you hear whispering?)

Did young lovers once meet in seclusion, giggling and flirting and wondering? (Will you still love me, tomorrow?)

Did old lovers reunite, fondly recalling their youthful wooing? (Those were the days, my friend.)

Did a maiden sit here, gently rocking, scribbling passionate poetry about a potential suitor who would woo? (My bosom heaved at his touch…)

What famous writers rested here before returning to their typewriters, inspired, driven? (It all began one fine spring, when we conquered the air in a swing…)

If the rocks could talk, what would they say? (Would you believe them?)

What is the symbolism of the young tree-ling breaking through the odd shroud on the back bar? (I will not be denied my manifest destiny.) Will lovers return here once again? (Will you?)

And, perhaps most importantly…

What was the last conversation that took place on the swing before it swung no more?

Go forth and envision.

Cheers.

 

Additional challenge: This is a current photo of a setting in my backyard, although I fiddled with it a bit (Filters are my friends.) If 20 people provide an interpretive vision in the comments, I will share the true history of the dysfunction. If not, well, the mystery will simply have to deepen into myth…

 

15 replies »

  1. It’s a place where the legend was born…
    The moon was high in the sky that night, the smell of fermented drinks is fierce.
    Then come from the mist of the dark, four men, with breath that could ignite fire. Four men one bold goal, 360 spins in that rusty swing chair. Nobody was ever attempted to challenge the cursed chair, not even for a sit.
    The four men stand strong on the chair and start swinging. They were determined and didn’t have fear.
    Then suddenly when they have reached halfway from the top, a thundering crack was heard. The men were down, there was silence…
    Then suddenly a cheer was sounded from one man,” the chair is defeated!”, the rest followed.
    That moment becomes a legend that every teenager dream to achieve. That place and the chair become sacred and only the pilgrim who seeks the courage came to there…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So.

    B.

    I don’t ever do these thingies or participate in WP antics lol but FOR YOU, sexy…I shall.

    Not least because I want to know what the eff you guys did to that poor swing, ya know?

    And so…let’s launch into a Poem.. obviously.

    Title: The Heartbreak Swing

    What happened here

    Upon this swing?

    Decrepit

    Quite an ugly thing

    Though swingers (😆) all pulled through, alive

    Some memories it did revive

    And after several cocktails they

    Decided they would spend the day

    A-singing and a-swinging there

    They shunned the ghosts of pasts unfair

    And like young lovers, kissed a song

    And did some naughty things (so wrong)

    And old rekindled flames did rest

    Upon that swing’s unerring breast

    Their antics sprained a limb or two

    (‘Cause that’s what sexy-time can do)

    And I in turn, my sweet behind

    I rested on that swing in kind

    And wrote a little, sensual rhyme

    (And thought, I’ll wear him down in time! )

    And Hemingway, he may have sat

    A glass of scotch beneath his hat

    He made a pass at me, I swear

    I said, just keep your paws right THERE

    The rocks were…hard

    They said, ‘sup girl?

    You want a bit of Rock n Twirl?

    And I was like…that makes no sense

    (The swing’s integrity now tense.)

    And as for arboreal matters…

    Left the poor sweet swing in tatters

    But what last words ‘pon swing were spoke?

    (As Fiery’s grammar slowly broke…)

    They were: “Oh B…let’s steal a kiss, one tiny smooch won’t go amiss!”

    And thus the swing was torn apart

    As SOMEONE broke poor Fiery’s heart

    He never kissed this Lady Bard 😭

    A swing and miss

    In his backyard.

    (Giggle, giggle, chuckle chuckle, mwah mwah mwah, gorgeous 💋❤️)

    Liked by 3 people

    • Well, I feel like a bit of an ass in that I’m just now getting around to reading this. (Blame the English lasses who came a calling, they kept us busy, but it was a good and wonderful busy.) I find this whole piece to be deliciously evocative and clever, which means I must share it with the rest of the world. Would you mind if I turned this into a blog post of it’s own? I know I broke your heart, a swing and miss, but surely you aren’t bitter enough to prevent me from doing so, though I would understand if the pain is still too intense. Let me know… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I stared silently at the broken thing before me. Sudden pangs of sympathy shot through me and sadness enveloped me as I leaned down to pay homage. I wanted to reach out and remove the greenery that threatened to overtake it, tenderly shift it’s awkward and give it a graceful pose for its death display.
    The metal was as cold as ice making its way over my fingertips, through my veins. My lips were numb, my heartbeat slowed as I felt my soft touch on my rib cage, my eyes overflowed while I eyed my lifeless heart.

    Title: the death of me

    Liked by 1 person

  4. After reading that Fiery comment, I’m almost ashamed to foist my own interpretation on y’all. But I will. Because it took so long to bake it (as it were). I also wove in (unintentionally) the Bonus feature. Well my spin on it anyhow. I doubt it resembles reality in any way. Here’s the link:

    Additional challenge: This is a current photo of a setting in my backyard, although I fiddled with it a bit (Filters are my friends.) If 20 people provide an interpretive vision in the comments, I will share the true history of the dysfunction. If not, well, the mystery will simply have to deepen into myth…

    Liked by 2 people

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