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 to read it and add a few encouraging words.

This month the words/prompts are supplied by Charlotte and can be found here

This week's words/prompts are: 

1. rivers 

2. heavy 

3. shell 

4. searchlight 

5. mischief 

6. yell 

and/or: 

1. arm 

2. east 

3. fruit 

4. languages 

5. voice

 6. thought 

and this photo:

Here is my story:

I had left Grandmama sitting by her loom, tears running down her face as she began to weave the death shrouds. I had walked across the mountain to the plateau where I could see the point where the raging rivers met. 

Never had they risen so high or flowed so strongly. It had been a season of extremes and we had all paid dearly. A ferry carrying school children and their teacher returning from a picnic spot, had been caught in a sudden flash flood and none were left. 

With heavy hearts, we had carried the searchlight for hours, seeing only once what might have been an arm, but nothing more as the river rushed by us. 

We had been unable to even get hold of the arm to rescue the child. The rushing waters were too wide. Even the simple, old style ferry itself could not be found and was most likely dashed to pieces on the rocky bank.  

The schoolhouse today was an empty shell, a forgotten basket of fruit sitting on the teacher's desk. No longer would we hear the voices of those children, chanting languages as they learned, or raising mischief on the playground. 

My thoughts could not be put into words; I faced east to see the sunrise and let my grief pour out in one almighty yell of pain, before crumpling to the earth to cry. 

I returned an hour later, to Grandmama, still sitting at her loom, making death shrouds for bodies that might never be found.