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 ME and can be found right here

This week's words/prompts are: 

1. donkey 

2. battleground 

3. spatula 

4. outside 

5. bridge 

6. stars 

7. rescue 

8. scorching

and this image: 

Here is my story:

Gemma sat with her mug of hot chocolate and stared into the fire. Her fire this time, not his. Her mind wandered back to his fire, in his living room. She had moved in willingly, foolishly, and things had gone downhill fairly fast.

She recalled him sitting by the fire, strumming his poorly tuned guitar, singing along with one of his favourites, “put another log on the fire, cook me up some bacon and some beans…”. Of course he’d never actually made her put logs on the fire, that fireplace had been huge and there was no way Gemma was able to lift and carry logs four feet long. But she did cook the bacon and beans, almost daily. 

Gemma hissed through her teeth, remembering the stars she had seen when his fist had smacked into her head just above the bridge of her nose. She’d dared to question his diet, hoping to serve a healthier option now and again. Salad, she’d said, right before the fist.

The spatula she had been stirring with had fallen to the floor making a little mess there and he had thrown Gemma down with, “now look what you did! Clean that up!” Gemma cleaned and bided her time. She wouldn’t turn this into a battleground, she was smarter than that. 

The following day, with baskets strapped to the donkey, Gemma had crossed the small bridge over the swollen river to collect pine needles to put under the kindling for that night’s scorching blaze. On her way home again, she stopped the donkey after re-crossing the bridge and wandered down the bank a little to where the first bridge supports were. 

She knew where the weakest spot was and threw rocks at it until it began to splinter, having done the same to the opposite support the previous day. Gemma managed to pull out two bolts from each support and threw them into the rapidly flowing water, then continued home with the baskets of pine needles.

With the river still swollen from the spring thaw, Gemma had asked Stan if he would please go to town and pick up more beans and a side of bacon, showing him how low the pantry supplies were. He grudgingly agreed and set off in the old truck after it finally spluttered into life. It was cared for almost as well as his untuned guitar and probably not safe to drive, but they did need those supplies. 

On his way home, truck laden with bacon, beans and beer, the bridge had given way, the truck had fallen in and been swept along at a speedy pace until it filled with water and sank. Stan had been drinking a beer as it happened and was too stunned to react quickly enough. He didn’t make it out and couldn’t swim anyway.

When the truck didn’t arrive home, Gemma went down to the riverbank and saw a few people planning a rescue. Pretending to be horrified and upset, Gemma pleaded with them to please hurry, and what happened? They assured her the truck would be dragged out as soon as possible, but it is likely Stan has not survived the collapse of the bridge. Several hours later, the dripping truck was on the riverbank and Stan had been carried away to the morgue.

 Gemma hadn’t married him, but he had no other family, so his cabin was now hers. After making a few changes, the cabin was much cosier and the pantry held neither bacon nor beans. His favourite chair now lived outside.