Tag Archives: #writephoto

Lake (Voices) #writephoto

Lake – Image by Sadje

Voices, voices.

Trey was six, very unsteady with his paddling, the canoe out of control in the wind, his older brother, Jim, shouting at him. It was his first year at the lake staying in the small cabin where his dad had vacationed since he was a kid. It had been a little fishing get away for his dad and one of his friends. Two years ago Jim had made his first visit. This year it was his turn.

His brother’s nine year old voice yelling.

Trey was nine, reeling in a huge bass. The bass fought like the Dickens, but Trey had three years of experience now and could handle it. tell Dad, though.  Even though he had caught hundreds of fish, but his dad still had to talk him through it, cheering him on.

His dad’s voice, full of care, instructing him on catching fish and living life.

Trey was eleven, climbing a small cliff that had the best view of the lake.  It was his favorite spot in the world. This was the second year Mom had made the journey, it no longer being a “boys night out” fishing trip, but s full-fledged family vacation.

His mother’s voice, telling him the cliff was dangerous was thrown into the mix.

Trey was thirteen hidden in the deep woods, coughing on a stolen cigarette. Jim punched his arm, perhaps a little too hard.

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Dinosaur #writephoto

Photo by KL Caley

The day was beautiful and the new park was just the answer to being locked inside for too long.  Steven smiled down at his wide-eyed six-year-old, Trevor. It was good to see the boy so enthralled with nature after being forced indoors for so long.

And it was a perfect place for a boy, for the park had several semi-abstract life-sized sculptures of different exotic animals, both living, though in a different parts of the world, or long extinct. 

“This is so lovely,” Carolyn said. She had been holding their son’s hand at first, but Trevor had escaped to explore on his own, though never out of sight or reach.

They turned a corner in the path to come face to face with a large, angular prehistoric beast.

“Look Dad, a dinosaur,” Trevor said.

The sculpture was so intriguing that Steven couldn’t take his eyes off of it to look at his son.

“No, Trevor, it’s a mammoth.  They’re mammals and lived much later.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a mastodon?” Carolyn asked.

“No, Mom and Dad, a dinosaur.  Look!”

Steven laughed to himself.  A six-year-old boy should know all of this stuff, but the prehistoric elephantine was not a dinosaur.

He turned to talk to Trevor, but Trevor was looking in a different direction.

Steven followed his son’s glaze.

From behind the trees, following their path, a large T-Rex came into view.

It was not a sculpture. It was far too alive and far to big.

Steven turned and ran.  The last thing he heard was, “See Dad, I told you it was a dinosaur.”


This was written for this week’s writephoto challenge. Sue is gone and missed, but before she left, she passed the baton for this challenge over to KL Caley. The photo at the top of the page was provided by KL, along with the key word “dinosaur“. Though I’m with the mom and dad here, it is most likely a mammoth, though possibly a mastodon ;)

Table #writephoto

Top of the table photo by KL Caley

I don’t want to tell you all of the behind the scene’s secrets for this reunion, but, well, I do like to show of my, is it presumptuous of me to say “genius”?

The landscapers were a little confused.  “You want the ground here perfect level but at a constant eight degree angle?  The words ‘level’ and ‘angle’ are self-exclusive.”

“No, no, I need it perfectly flat, and looking level from a distance, but that angle has to be eight degrees.”

And then the furniture maker asking why I wanted the legs on one side of the very long table extended while the other end was cut off.  If that table top wasn’t exactly eight degrees when finished, I’d have him start over – man, he was tough, but did it right.

The chairs were even more fun, but that is a whole other story.

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Neptune #writephoto

Neptune Image by KL CALEY

Pa and I spent most of the day in town.  We had a little shopping to do, which we usually do on Sundays, not Wednesdays.  And when we go in on Sundays, we spent as little time as possible there.

Not today.

Pa don’t like town much. Like me, he grew up in the country, but back then it was even deeper. He said people in town were artificial, like that old, silted-in mill pond, not real, like us folk from deeper into hill country.

I’m not sure why we was in town.  We spent most of the day in the little park near the library next to that shallow mill pond.  I always liked that statue in the middle of the pond, the one of the old guy gigging frogs.  I know he’s a god and all, and Pa says people think I’m a country bumpkin for saying he’s going after the frogs, but that’s what he looks like he’s doing.

I have a frog gig that looks just like that, but don’t gig frogs much any more, like I did when I was a little kid.  Now I hunt with a real gun, and critters much bigger than frogs.

I sat and I walked around and threw stones in the pond and did other stuff.  Yeah, I was bored.  Pa spent most of the day talking on his cell phone.  It don’t work so well up home.

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Arch #writephoto (repost)

Photo by Sue Vincent

Note – I originally posted this for Sue Vincent‘s writephoto challenge almost exactly 3 years ago, on the 8th of March, 2018. With Sue unable to post new challenges, some of us have been bringing back some old ones to show our appreciation for her inspiration.

No color or chroma reaches my night-dead eye.  The sun sets over the ruined cathedral.  And there is me, awake again, hanging in the middle, with the ghosts of the past on one side and the shadows of the future on the other, dangling between history and destiny, on this arch of time.

The hollow, no longer hallow, walls stretch above me, the marble has been stripped away, revealing broken brick and rubble.

Entering through my secret door, I taste the evening, taste her, taste the world, the world of the everlasting Now.

I walk through the cathedral, once the place of long forgotten saints and archbishops, of king and peasant long turned to dust.  I can still see their faces on the crumbling walls.

How the mighty have fallen, the holy rotted. 

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Dark #writephoto (repost)

Photo by Sue Vincent

NoteI wrote and posted this almost exactly three (3) years ago, on March 1, 2018. It was written for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge that week. Since Sue is unable to post new photos, many of us are bringing back posts from the past to show our appreciation for the stories and ideas that she inspired :) See below for more detail on this story.

With no wizard’s light to guide us, we ran through the darkness.  Occasionally a great leap of fire was reflected on the dark stone, casting an evil red glare across our party, but mostly we moved through a black so deep it seemed a physical force.  On we went, stubbing toes and scuffing hands as we ran in pitch black.

“I see light,” the sharp eyed elf yelled.  “Daylight!”

We ran faster, though us mere mortals could see naught.  I bumped into a man, a common occurrence in this mad dash.  But then something amazing happened.  I could make out his form.  In a few more steps, I too could see the cool blue daylight.  We might make it!

There were guards at the entrance, but they were expecting an attack from the outside, not one from within.  We swept them away without an injury on our part and pushed out into the open.

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Storm #writephoto repost

Photo by Sue Vincent

(This story was posted almost exactly a year ago, on 2/14/2020 (Valentine’s Day!) With Sue not able to put up a new write-photo prompt, I decided to revisit this one :) And a reminder to visit the Carrot Ranch Sue Vincent Rodeo Classic.)

I felt the turbulence as she entered the room, the low pressure system sucking the air out and drawing all eyes in.

A flash of lightning struck as she glanced around the packed room.

The crowds parted as torrent moved forward.

She didn’t even see me as she passed inches away, but the gale force winds turned me with her.

She went at the bar.

People turned back to what they were doing.  The music came back on.

I remembered to breath.

But then I saw her again.  I drew in a sharp breath.

My mind clouded up.

How dare I even think I could even speak to one such as her?

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Deeper #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It had been a hard day.  I went straight to my room and flopped down on the bed.  I didn’t even take off my jacket.

Deeper and deeper into the abyss. 

I didn’t try to sleep, just stared at the ceiling seeing nothing.

Black, only black.

My cell rang.

Swirling water, a whirlpool, sucking me down.

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Appointed #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It seemed that every time I opened the door they were there.  They followed me when I walked and even when I drove.  They were everywhere.  And, no, it wasn’t just my imagination since a few people commented on it.

The wings were beginning to drive me crazy.  Why was I being shadowed so?

We all know what happened next, and the less said, the better.

Yep, lucky me, I was a survivor.  A one in perhaps ten million survivor.

Only it wasn’t luck.

As I explored the new, emptier world, I still had my constant companions. The wings stopped bothering me and became welcome.

The world was not just emptier, it was lonelier and so I tried to communicate with my new “friends”.  I slowly began to understand them.

No, it wasn’t luck.

I discovered that I was the region’s appointed survivor.

They knew it was coming and wanted a representative human to keep around for a while.  You know, as a warning. 

For some reason, they chose me.

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Guarded #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent


Tom glanced over his shoulder at Cheryl.  She just watched her feet as they trod the almost empty landscape.

He wasn’t the type to pry, and thought he did pretty well to only bring it up then, but it did bug him.

Where had she gone?

After dinner she had said that she needed a short walk to help digest.  Fine.  Alone.  Not a problem, he’d go back to the room.

She showed up over two hours later.

Not a word was said. 

In fact, very little was said at all since then.  She was quiet, guarded, all through breakfast, only speaking in mono-syllables if spoken to. 

They were there through an odd series of coincidences.

Tom thought back as they hiked across the open moorland.

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