Your Story: Field of dreams

Put your writing hats on and write me a story for this scene.  Make it a good one.

Your Story is a SethSnap series in which you get to decide the story behind the photos. You can write a story, a poem or even just one word. You decide.

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27 responses to “Your Story: Field of dreams

  1. Good to see a “Your Story” feature again, Seth, I was missing it a bit. :-)
    ————————-

    Sitting in the shade as I wait on my friends, I could muse upon many things.

    However, my mind is solely taken by the simple wonder of how fresh cut grass feels upon the skin. Nothing feels quite like walking barefoot across a freshly cut lawn; the coolness, the evenness and gentle prickle of the shortened blades against the soles of my feet… long grass doesn’t feel like that, I refuse to walk barefoot in long grass.

    I was delighted to arrive at the park this morning to see the mowers had been through recently; I had arrived there early enough that there was still a touch of morning dew on the grass….my shoes and socks came off immediately and I indulged my feet in their favorite guilty pleasure.

    I found a lovely shade tree to wait under and sat down to let my legs feel the wonderful sensation as well.

    As for my friends; they still aren’t here, but they can take their time….really, they can, I don’t mind at all.

  2. I haven’t tried this before so thank you for giving me a challenge.
    ******************

    Flash Fiction: Field of Dreams

    For him the picture he was staring at was perfection. The woman lying in the shade beneath the giant oak tree. Her sandals lying beside her. A half drunk water bottle carefully sat close at hand.
    Sunshine flooded the park highlighting the traffic light colours of Summer. Subtle greens of shrubs pushed to the background as the brash reds and yellows of annual plants tumbled from flower beds calling for attention.
    In comparison the figure underneath the tree went un noticed by the multitude who answered the call of the rare appearance of Summer.
    People walking, talking, children dancing or playing on the swings. The air filled with the happy sounds of sunshine which could be broken down as bees humming, birds singing, the murmur of adult conversations all fading every now and then as childish laughter rang out. The nearby fountain sparkled like a jewel as the pulsating water was hit by beams of sunshine.
    He took a deep breath and smelt heaven. Freshly mowed grass mingled with the sweet smells of summer did not impress him. What he was taking delight in was the fetid smell of death arising from his meticulous work which as yet went unnoticed.

  3. Sherry expected to spend her time that afternoon stretched out on the grass, barefoot, and imagining the fantastic castles and cities she would find in the glorious array of cumulus clouds. She needed this time. She wanted this time away from him.
    In the back of her mind…always there lurking…was what a love/hate relationship she had with her job. Even though her real interests lay in the art of the First People. She had done her Master’s thesis on the petroglyphs carved on the wall of a cave near L’Anse-au-Loup, Labrador.
    She still had a mountain of student debt as high as a grain silo in Saskatchewan. So she found this job. She disliked it intensely at first, but found that she was a very quick learner. Her supervisor promoted her quickly. Now she was in charge of the entire Department of Testing in the French Delight Condom Company.
    For eight hours a day she would fit condoms onto a perfectly shaped metal alloy phallic device. Once in place, she’d press a button and a gentle electric current would seek and find micro-faults in the latex. These went into the waste bin. Or she would have the faulty rejects packaged and she would give them out to her girlfriends she most despised.
    If they were stupid enough to tell tales about her behind her back, they’d pay the price nine months later.
    The problem in her marriage began shortly after she started her job as a condom tester. The perfect phallus (alloy) was…just that, too perfect. It was the size and shape of a man’s manhood, the way the books had shown it. In her college dorm, enough magazines were passed around to keep the co-eds well informed as to what was perfect and what was “ugly junk”.
    She hated ugly junk. And she began to hate Sid, the owner of the ugly junk that she happened to be married to.
    She was under no illusions as to how much he desired her. After all, she was crazy beautiful, with wild red hair and a perfect body. He wanted her all the time. She got sick of this constant clinging and begging and pleading that was her every evening.
    She began to turn away. She began to ignore his touches and kisses. Since he wasn’t “perfect”, she wanted nothing to do with him.
    At first this made him angry, then frustrated, then resentful. His own wife…
    It wasn’t long before he started seeing someone else. She just turned nineteen. She didn’t have a hoity-toity job like his wife, Carla swept the cut hair from three beauty parlors in the town. She was a great sweeper and boy, could she handle the broom…like a regular Adele Astaire.
    Sherry found out about it, of course, hairdressers talk. So, she announced to Sid that she was leaving him.
    Sid was one of those guys who wants what he can’t have. A rare male trait. So he studied her movements and habits. He knew about her power-walking in the park. He knew about her love of a certain French mineral water.
    So, using his high school chemistry background and with a little help from Carla, he put together a combination of street drugs that would surely have her napping in about twenty minutes…and dead in about thirty. To make sure he didn’t take a sip by mistake, he put a red cap on her bottle.
    Sherry saw so many wonderful things in the clouds that afternoon before she got sleepy.
    A blogger with a camera strolled nearby and snapped a photo of her, from the thighs down to her bare feet.
    Forty-two minutes after he took the snap, the yellow crime scene tape went up.

  4. She was waiting for him to come, but didn’t know who “him” would be. Lover, friend, or foe. She would find out soon enough.

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