I thought I’d have a go at Esther Newton’s Monday Motivations today. Esther says:
This week, to get your writing week kick-started, I’m going to give you the beginning of a story. What happens next is up to you.
There’s a visual prompt that goes with this, of two blue clay jugs full of daffodils, sitting on a windowsill.
“Lizze had known it was going to happen one day. But that didn’t make it any easier.
She looked out the window and peered through the rain splattered glass. It had been such a lovely morning, with sunshine streaming through the windows, falling on the golden daffodils on the windowsill. For a while, she’d thought everything was going to be alright.”
Lovingly, she glanced down at the two jugs of flowers, and recoiled in horror. Would this never end? She ran to the bedroom and threw a few essential belongings into a suitcase. She had only unpacked two weeks ago with such high hopes that she could put it all behind her, here in this remote corner of Wales. She had obviously had not covered her tracks as well as she thought.
Dashing through the living room towards the back door, she stopped. With tears in her eyes, she gently pulled out the decapitated daffodil, picked up her trowel, took it outside and, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, she buried it in the bare garden.
Back in the living room, she wrote a quick notice to quit, wrapped it around enough cash to cover the next month’s rent, and pushed it into an envelope. She would drop it through his letterbox as she cycled through the village in search of a new hiding place.
A horrible suspicion made her stop and re-open the envelope. She looked at the name she had signed: Lizze. It was as she had feared. She grabbed the pen and wrote her name over and over; it was no good. it came out the same every time. She dropped everything and fled, screaming, from the house, and sped off on her bicycle, with the empty trailor hitched to it.
Behind her the beautiful blooms, surrounded by blue shards of broken pottery jugs lay awaiting their inevitable doom on the sodden living room carpet beside a sheet of wet paper, with “Lizze Lizze Lizze” gradually blotting to green-inked oblivion.
Not only had the dread daffodil destroyer discovered Lizze’s hidden den, and decapitated another of her darlings; he had stolen one of the I’s from her name.
©Jane Paterson Basil