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 David M. Gascoigne and can be found here

This week's words/prompts are: 

1. little 2. application 3. care 4. companionship 5. father 6. only 

and/or: 

1. farm 2. progress 3. hedgerow 4. wet 5. distinguished 6. industrial

also including Charlotte's colour of the month which is May green.

Here is my story:

Many years had passed since the last of the industrial cities had failed, the robots that ran the machines had broken down and no one knew how to fix them. Progress had stopped. It had been at least a century, probably longer,  since people left home and went to work each day, no one even remembered how things had been done before the days of automated drones took over. Society had broken down and cities all over the world had become pockets of anarchy. Gloom and despair reigned supreme amongst the filth and the rubble until one day, one remarkable day, when a traveller arrived in one small city.

Not a city person, this man walked without fear and with a smile upon his weathered face. He asked directions of several people and came to the house he had been searching for. The elderly couple residing there did not recognise him, but he was family, descended from the brother of the elderly woman’s grandfather. They talked long into the night and through the next day and when the traveller left, the whispers began. Elderly spoke to elderly who then began to remember tales told to them by their own grandparents who had heard similar from even older generations.

A better life can be found far away from the greyness of the dying cities. Our children deserve to run free, not stay huddled inside hiding from the lawlessness. But how to do this? Whisperings and mutterings grew faster. What was it the traveller had said? Leave the city in the month of May, when distant trees showed green. Follow the hedgerows in the direction of the rising sun until an abandoned farm is reached. You will recognise it by the stone windmill which no longer turns. From there follow the hedgerows again keeping the setting sun over your right shoulder until you reach a cave.

Many repeated this to others, but none were yet brave enough to start such a journey. As the month of May approached, a father gathered his things and his only remaining son and set out in the direction of the rising sun. They carried as much water as they could, having little else to carry. Upon reaching the green trees the father searched for the hedgerows, not knowing for sure just exactly what they were, but the son soon remarked upon the low shrubs all growing in a line. “Of course,” thought the father, “a line is a row, and we shall follow this one towards the rising sun until we find the windmill.”

In due time, the windmill was reached and by now the father and son had used all their water and were thirsty as well as hungry and quite dirty. They searched the ruins of the old farm hoping to find at least a little water, enough to wet their dry mouths at least. What a surprise they had to find brambles with juicy berries! They ate until they could eat no more and then looked for the hedgerow that would lead towards the setting sun. Once they found it, they lay down to sleep, knowing that if they walked in the morning with the rising sun at their left shoulders they would be going in the right direction.

This they did and trudged wearily mile after mile for several days, licking early morning dew from the leaves of the shrubs. They did not find the cave, but another traveller found them. He had come from the cave searching for anyone coming from the cities as he had every week since the first traveller had returned. He spoke to the father and son in a quiet voice, telling of the care and companionship waiting for them if they could manage just one more mile. He gave them water which he had brought in case he met anyone and walked at their slow pace, noting their exhaustion and blistered feet. “A little application of medicinal salve will fix those feet,” he told them. “My name is Simon and all who come this way are welcome.”

Inside the cave was another surprise. Pockets of civilization had survived in the areas where industry had not taken over and people who had come in earlier times from other cities and towns were thriving and learning. There were people growing foods in the field behind the cave where a small stream ran through. A distinguished looking man explained that this “cave” was in fact a remnant of an old library and there were still a few books carefully sealed away from the elements. “All we ask of you,” he said, "is to one day take a journey and spread the word so more people can come and learn to live as nature intended."