This piece was written for the 14 November Flash! Friday competition – and won! The prompt was the photo and you had to include a famous writer. As I could not decide which writer to include, I used about six.
Merely this and nothing more
If on a summer’s day a Story Teller was to exit Hotel L—, she would find herself on the road leading to the harbour. If she walked, her mind would drift through centuries of memories. If she remembered, she would colour memories to adventures, hovels to palaces, obstacles to giants. If she stood on the shore she would recall all the memories of all the ages. Cities. Armies. Voyages. Adventures. Sorrow. Love. Fear. Beasts growing listless in ancient temples beneath the waves.
If she was to tell all these memories to the ocean, she would slowly sink into a story herself; her voice caught in sea foam, her secrets bound in a chest on the ocean floor where fifteen dead men danced, her stories travelling through countries, years, and centuries before being caught by ink.
She asked if her own words, those grains of sand, would be remembered.
She did not wait for an answer; lest it was “nevermore”.
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In the next post I’ll give the writers and books I referenced – these are books and writers I love and I think everyone should read at least once.