Wednesday's Words on a Friday
The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles. Sadly, Delores has now closed her blog forever due to other problems.
The aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along and read it.
This month the words/prompts are supplied by ME and can be found right here
This week's words/prompts are:
1. pipes and drums band
My story carries on from last week's beginning, so for those that missed it I will include it here.
I stood uncertainly in the gloomy shop, searching the shelves for something I didn’t know yet. A voice from behind said, “it’s on the second shelf from the top, right beneath the handwoven dreamcatcher.” I spotted it right away, even as my own voice replied, “but it doesn’t belong there.” “It knows,” said the voice from behind and I felt a shiver, knowing there was no one there. I was being helped by a ghost. Again. The memory of my previous supernatural encounter had left me miserable for weeks, it had been unexpected and I’d felt out of my depth. Maybe this time would be better. I felt a quiver in the air as the ghost reached past me and pulled the tiny gold box from the shelf where it shouldn’t have been, although I didn’t know why or how I knew that. This path hadn’t been properly explained to me and I wasn’t ready, yet here I was, holding out my hand for the tiny gold box as it floated down to me. I clasped it gently, bowed my head as the required thank you, (how did I know I should do that?) then walked back out into the sunshine. Never before had its warmth felt so welcome.
I sat on a nearby seat where I could see the espaliered pear tree at the side of the shop and turned the small gold box over and over, looking for a way to open it. It had been so skillfully made, I almost couldn’t see the tiny hinges at the back, so the lid must open on the other side and I turned it again, but could see no trace of a catch at all. The etchings were very delicate and I imagined the box must have been very costly, so how and why had it ended up here in this gloomy shop? I looked up at the cloudless blue sky, but of course there were no answers there, just as there had been no answers when I stared out of the classroom windows while pondering exam questions.
I remembered my teacher back then warning my parents I was in danger of becoming a high school dropout and the horror on my mother’s face at the thought. There were quite a few setbacks along the way to my graduation, but I did get there in the end. This reminiscing wasn’t going to help with the mystery of the box though. As I stood up, the voice from the shop whispered, “Follow the box Morgana. It will show you the way.” I spun around so quickly I almost fell over, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of the ghost who was helping me. Follow the box? What on earth does that mean?
I put the box in my pocket and began walking home, passing the heap of rubble that had so recently been an old Victorian mansion, and passing too, the park where I could faintly hear the practising of the Pipes and Drums band, as they prepared for the annual music festival. The sound stirred the tiny drop of Scottish blood bequeathed to me by my ancestors, along with a love of tartan fabrics and men in kilts. Reaching home I set the box on the table as I began to prepare the evening meal. Nothing fancy, a three cheese omelette with a simple parsley garnish and no dessert.
As I ate, I stared at the box, wondering what secrets it held and how I was to discover them when I couldn’t even open it. I pulled from the cupboard a patch of silk, neatly hemmed, that had once been part of a sari, and set the box upon it. The rich ruby silk reflected in the side of the box and it seemed to feel warmer in my hands because of it.