It has come to my attention that the world doesn’t stand still at my command. Days begin and end, as do semesters, without a care for how many things need to be crammed into them. While I’d like to think I could stop time and make it wait for me to catch up, I cannot. Damn the relentless tic-tocking!
I missed posting a story for Friday Fictioneers last week. It was written, but I just didn’t get around to posting it. So, if you will indulge me, kind readers, you will get two, similar but different, stories for the price of one this week.
Last week’s prompt, courtesy of Georgia Koch, inspired this story:
Sink or Swim
Madeline stepped off the train. She’d made the first decision solely for herself in more than twenty years. The crowd waiting to greet the other passengers with hugs, bouquets, and squeals of delight was almost more than she could stand.
She felt dizzy. She made her way to the bench at the end of the platform. There was no luggage to claim. She’d arrived with only the small satchel her mother had given her all those years ago when she was a young bride.
She wondered for a moment if it had been a good idea to rock the boat.
This week’s prompt, courtesy of Ted Strutz, yielded the impromptu recycled story below, entitled Adaptation. This word has been on my mind a lot lately. My life, each and every moment of it, is one continuous adaptation. The time for my mediation practicum is finally here. I am excited to reach this point and am looking forward to what’s in store next as I get closer to graduation. Much of my writing energy will be consumed these next few months by class assignments. In light of this, posts will continue to be limited. I hope you enjoy these stories. Thanks for reading. Be sure to check out more Friday Fictioneers here.
Madeline stepped off the train, her future a mystery. The crowd, greeting other passengers with hugs, bouquets, squeals of delight, was more than she could stand. She felt dizzy, powerless. Her energy drained, like someone had pulled the plug on her just as she summoned the strength to make the first choice solely for herself in more than twenty years. She made her way to the bench at the end of the platform. There was no luggage to claim. She’d arrived with only a satchel filled with odds and ends from her old life.
That life, dead to her now.