Skip to main content

"The"

So, Joy sweetly commented that she was interested in knowing more about Ariana's Island.  So here is the clip where Ariana finds part of a name or a sign.  It is not polished yet, but you get the idea of what is happening.  Enjoy!
 



     Ariana set off through the trees and underbrush, headed for the beach.

     The southeast beach was the closest.  Ariana stepped out onto the sand with a happy sigh.  She truly loved it here on the island.  She kicked her shoes off at the edge of the forest and stepped into the loose sand with bare toes.

     Ariana took her time as she strolled along the beach near the water, picking up shells and other small things that struck her fancy.  The sand was warm, and it stuck to her wet legs.

     Ahead of her, a wave toyed with a piece of wood.  It was not a large piece of wood, but it caught Ariana’s attention.  She splashed through the next approaching wave and picked it up. 

     It was flat, like a board, and badly broken around the edges.  Ariana turned the board over in her hands.  The other side had the word “The” painted in fancy lettering.

     Involuntarily, Ariana’s eyes sought the horizon.  In all her months on the island, she had never seen any signs of other human beings.  She had never seen any other islands in any direction.  She had never seen a plane fly overhead.  It would not have been hard to convince herself that she was the only person on the planet.  And it was a lonely if beautiful place to be.

     Yet, here in her hands, was an unmistakeable sign of people.  Where did it come from?  How far had this solitary board traveled to reach her?

     Ariana looked down at the board again.  Gently, almost caressingly, she pulled a piece of seaweed from a crack in the board.  “Poor thing,” she said to the board.  “I bet you are glad to see me, too.”

     “The” was not much of a clue to its origins.

     “Someone who speaks English, anyway,” Ariana mused, pondering the single word on the small board.  “I wonder who they were.”

     In truth, the board could have belonged to almost anybody.  Ariana stared at the painted word, imagining where it may have come from. 

     Perhaps it used to be part of a sign that hung in front of a seaside diner, run by an older lady who was fulfilling her life-long dream of living by the ocean.  Ariana could almost see the old lady on the front walk of her diner, standing contentedly underneath a sign that said “The Conch Shell Diner” and waving to her patrons.

     Perhaps it was part of an old fisherman’s boat named “The Red Herring.”  Every day, he went out into the harbor with his boat and his nets.  Ariana imagined some epic fishing expedition, like “The Old Man and the Sea” or “Moby Dick” that caused the name of his boat to rip loose.  Of course, the old man would have made it safely home to tell the tale, and then part of his boat name floated across the ocean to Ariana.

      Or maybe it was part of an evil smuggler’s ship.  A shiver ran down Ariana’s spine as she realized that the board may be associated with a more sinister source.  What if such a person discovered her island?

     It was unthinkable, and Ariana decided not to think about it.  She patted the board.  “It wouldn’t be your fault anyway,” she consoled the piece of wood.  “You were only the boat.”

     The painted board was essentially useless to her, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to throw it back into the water.  As remote as it seemed, it was still her first human connection in months.  She carried the board away from the water and deposited it at the edge of the tree line before resuming her beach stroll.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

More Snippets from Snow White Rose Red

    One of the shadows moved.   “Were you just going to chuck it in there with no thought for the poor folks on the other side?”   Flip’s voice drawled out.   It was a deep voice and it made my heart skip a beat.      He moved away from the trees and came to stand in front of me.   “Some hard-working fellow is plowing his field and then – whop!   Out of nowhere, a poisoned apple flies out and hits him upside the head.”   He clucked his tongue reproachfully.

A Short Story Break

via Pinterest     It has been a while since I penned a short story.  Usually it takes something like a "short story contest" to inspire me.  But I have noticed my writing skills improve with each contest so there is something to be said for writing short stories.      I say all this to lead into the fact that I am going to try another short story.  There is no contest looming on the horizon, but it has been so long that I think I am due to write a short piece.  Life cannot be entirely devoted to novel-length plots...      I am rolling around different ideas in my head.  There is no one to give me the first three words or a picture to base my story on.  There are no restrictions, no props, and no judges.      Methinks I will try something that is both epic and ordinary...something I have seen before.  After all, personal experience, great things, and the expression of the ordinary are part of what makes a story. 

The Countdown: Eight Days

Eight days.  Do you know what that means?  Barely over a week.  Tomorrow will be one week from the announcement date. Are you excited? I am. So, today, I want to talk to those who wrote something for the contest, whether or not you entered it in the end. What made you start writing your story?  What was the first inkling of an idea that tickled your brain?  What was it that you liked about your premise?  As you wrote, did you have a favorite character or a favorite scene?  And are you glad you wrote it down?  Do you feel like you learned and grew in your ability as a writer as you tried out things for this contest? And, if your story isn't included in this year's Rooglewood anthology (either because you didn't submit it or because it didn't fit with the other four stories selected), what will you do with it?  Will you market it elsewhere?  Or will you lock it away in a drawer?