the 3 little pictures...snow findings
- tales from a bluerose
- Mar 26, 2018
- 3 min read
I thought I would start a new little post. I take three pictures. a readers write a short story incorporating the images into their tale. what do you think?!
this is the first of the "three little pictures" posts and we have Sarah Olson writing a deliciously mysterious story. Enjoy!
She hadn’t meant to lose the key, of course. It had been in her possession for nearly a decade, day after day, year after year, until it had almost become a part of her. After all, who is so careless as to lose the one key to the one door that unlocks the one portal to a different world? No one. No one would ever be so careless. But she had been and now she was trudging through gusts and gales and snow and ice to find it.
She hadn’t meant to find it all those years ago, of course. She had stumbled upon it long ago, on a blue, bleak winter evening. The heel of her foot had caught it ever-so-slightly and the faint jingle of brass against her boot somehow echoed almost musically above the muffled snow. For that’s the beauty of magical things. They manage to resonate and call to us even in a silent and stifled world. But now she had lost it and the magic seemed to purposely punish her. The key was lost in the snow again and she couldn’t hear anything except for the wind piercing her ears and the ice striking her coat.
The mittens she had purposefully misplaced. She had hastily dropped them four blocks in the opposite direction and then scurried away to keep Mr. J. P. Harrison off her trail once she realized that she’d lost the key. If Mr. Harrison knew that the key was out there, somewhere in the snow and storm and gloomy gusts of evening approaching he would find it. She could not have him find it. If Mr. Harrison found the key who knows what would happen? She’d been warned for the past nine years that he would stop at nothing to have that power and if he knew it was out there, up for the grasping…she wouldn’t even allow her mind to imagine the repercussions.
The umbrella blew away before she lost the key. It was really the umbrella’s fault, if she were to blame anything. The umbrella always did what it wanted in the wind and she foolishly had run down a lane, through an alley and across two blocks to fetch it. She should have just let it go. Why had she cared if she lost such a common thing when she had something priceless to protect? A man with a tweed jacket and a hatless head leaning against a lamppost had picked it up for her. He dusted off the snow, looked at her with his lips pressed together in a disapproving line and held it out wordlessly. She had paused, muttered a bleak ‘thank-you’ and revulsed as she reached out her hand to grab it. Something in her knew there was something wrong when he handed the umbrella to her. As if he mastered the wind and had caused the whole thing. It made her skin prickle when she looked in his eyes. She had hurried away, pulling her scarf over her mouth and shoving her hands in her pockets. It was then that she noticed the key was gone.
She hadn’t meant to find the key years ago. She definitely hadn’t meant to lose the key. But now, because she had found the key and then lost the key, that is where our story begins.....
Thank you Sarah! I'm sure we would all love you back as a guest writer and to find out what happens next !
*If you are interested in being a writer on the "three little pictures" posts, reach out to me on the contact page or chat with me live by clicking the camera on the blog page
God Bless
Comments