The children splashed each other in the shallows. His wife pretended to read something on her Kindle in the lounger beside him. She was biting her lip. He squeezed her hand and assured her, “Hey, everything is okay.”
Eyes questioning, she met his gaze, “You’re sure we are safe here?”
“Absolutely. I promise,” he replied with a false confidence—hoping she couldn't sense the fear behind his words.
All he could do now was pray their new, forever summer home (located somewhere off the coast of Spain) was, in fact, safe.
Days of trekking along a little unimproved road in my ‘69 convertible down to a secret water hole, blasting classic rock music with some of my buddies, with lots of beer, hot dogs and a portable grill in the back of it will soon come.
Not today, though. It is still wintertime, and if I were to drive her now, the salt on the road would ruin the exterior.
However, I couldn’t resist getting in her and firing up her engine inside the garage.
Hi, from Australia and my 38 degree C day. Thanks for the prompt Miguel!
—-
Summer is snags on the barbie, thongs and a bevvie in your palm, youth radio counting down tunes, beaches packed with the Union Jack, sweat and seatbelt burns, new year same wounds, marching the streets demanding rights for the owners of this land, watching the pale and melanoma prone celebrate the day this sunburnt country was stolen, their cheers oppressive like this unrelenting heat and ever present fear of flames that whip through scrub, cared for and managed for thousands of years before terra nullius. Not a date to celebrate.
The drive to the Moors is always gorgeous. That was particularly so last night, sun beaming down as Kings Of Leon blares out of car speakers.
The evening, once the camp was pitched and BBQ finished, was equally spectacular, fading light slipping a tangerine filter over everything in sight.
But the morning, with the cool air, the dew and the piping-hot coffee my only companions, that's when I breath out. I exist, hinged in this time during January's darkest, coldest moments.
My father’s favorite time of the year is summer. It was my favorite season too, but living in the Midwest I didn’t experience hot temperatures year-round. Anytime I called, he’d beg me to move down to Florida with him. Now that the house next door is for sale, he’s called me every day.
“Come on, honey. You know you wanna live here.”
“I do, I just can’t right now.” I replied.
I never took chances, except this time. Now, we drink our coffees in the warm sun together every morning.
He could sense the warm ground under his bare feet. He noticed the chair he had placed under the tree, a good book on its arm. The sunshine touched his soul, lifting his spirits. He looked over at his garden and could feel the warm loam falling through his fingers. He pictured the warm winds whooshing through his hair as he rode his bicycle the five miles to the library.
With a sigh, he knew that four months was too long to wait. Soon he would be outside once again.
I didn't know where I wanted to go with this one. At first, it was: "Summer Welles.." .but that just wasn't doing it for me.
She looked out over the ocean’s waves, feeling a taunting breeze that swept her hair back, out of her sun-freckled face. There was little to do, as usual. The summer breeze outside the window was all she needed most days, but today, with the threat of rain and a storm brewing, she was trapped inside. Her little brother was being his annoying self; her mother ignoring him, with a book in her hand; her father drinking a beer. And then she saw the whale as it breeched the ocean’s surface, and turned away, searing the memory into her brain forever.
Oh this is a fun prompt! I hope you don't mind, but I copied your version...
___________________
Dearest V.W.H.,
I'm sorry you don't appreciate my sister, but she is necessary.
Many seeds need a spell of darkness and cold to germinate: Without Winter, you would miss artichokes, calming camomile, heather, lavender... no hops for beer, no milkweed for migrating monarchs.
No sweet maple syrup without a Winter's sleep for the trees.
The ticks, mosquitoes, and biting flies would flourish if I stayed forever.
If you insist on seeing me all year 'round, you could move to Florida... but beware the pythons!
See you soon!
Love,
Summer
___________________
Dang, it, I accidentally used 100 words! I just edited out 10 words... all done!
All stories have a protagonist, an obstacle and a resolution. But not all struggles are equal. Some are for higher stakes.
Summer
The breeze tickled my skin under the hot, blue sky. A trickle of sweat ran down my temple while I lay in the ropes of my hammock.
My drink had run dry, the little paper parasol fallen away. I went back and forth between my desire for another so far away in the ice and just relaxing in the shade.
I lost, or won, the fight. I climbed out and went to the cooler, hand rummaging in the cold for another beverage.
A new girl in 8th grade homeroom class arrived. She transferred from another town, her family had moved. Her hair, the color of wheat at harvest time. Her eyes, that gave me only a quick glance, an impossible shade of blue. I couldn’t look away.
The next day, I approached her at lunch. Not out of summoned courage or false confidence, but because I had to. I was compelled to, no other choice existed. Her name was Summer, Summer Lawson, she said. I still remember that toxicating, warm Summer smile.
Memorial day weekend summer starts. Lake ice melted. Test water, splash on face. My friends’ motorboat roars. I stand on dock with slalom ski. Tow rope slack tightens. Skis cross the glacé surface. Spray freezes skin first, then I’m numb; summer kicks in. Jump wakes. When I round the island’s big rock; see girl’s in bikinis. Graduation lifts spirits suntan lines. Boat heads to shore. I let go of toe rope. My body slips into daydreams and 45F water. I feel hot.
Bric lounged in his Lay-Z-Boy, margarita in hand. Tommy Bahama shirt unbuttoned over his paunch; chest hair circled by a flower lei. Soft Hawaiian rhythms filled the apartment, courtesy of Alexa.
Bric surveyed the Christmas tree in the corner, still standing a month after St. Nick’s departure.
“Maybe get that down by summer?” asked his wife Frannie.
He clasped hands with his 30-year bride beside him on the couch in her underwear.
“Summer’s a state of mind.”
She swabbed her forehead with a cold washcloth. “My hormones couldn’t agree more.”
This turned out to be one of my favorites so far this year:
Lake Garrett craved summer. Summer meant beach and toes in hot sand and shells for her jar. But most of all, a chance at her favorite thing: sending out messages in bottles.
At the shore, she could whisper secrets of paper and glass. Cast them off to far off lands where folks begged to know her.
Then it finally happened. A bottle came back. Little shaking hands unwrapped its contents like food for a starving soul, eyes tracing every molecule of ink on the paper.
Writing mine shortly, but I agree-Summer's sister is awful!
The children splashed each other in the shallows. His wife pretended to read something on her Kindle in the lounger beside him. She was biting her lip. He squeezed her hand and assured her, “Hey, everything is okay.”
Eyes questioning, she met his gaze, “You’re sure we are safe here?”
“Absolutely. I promise,” he replied with a false confidence—hoping she couldn't sense the fear behind his words.
All he could do now was pray their new, forever summer home (located somewhere off the coast of Spain) was, in fact, safe.
Summer. I can almost feel it.
Days of trekking along a little unimproved road in my ‘69 convertible down to a secret water hole, blasting classic rock music with some of my buddies, with lots of beer, hot dogs and a portable grill in the back of it will soon come.
Not today, though. It is still wintertime, and if I were to drive her now, the salt on the road would ruin the exterior.
However, I couldn’t resist getting in her and firing up her engine inside the garage.
Hi, from Australia and my 38 degree C day. Thanks for the prompt Miguel!
—-
Summer is snags on the barbie, thongs and a bevvie in your palm, youth radio counting down tunes, beaches packed with the Union Jack, sweat and seatbelt burns, new year same wounds, marching the streets demanding rights for the owners of this land, watching the pale and melanoma prone celebrate the day this sunburnt country was stolen, their cheers oppressive like this unrelenting heat and ever present fear of flames that whip through scrub, cared for and managed for thousands of years before terra nullius. Not a date to celebrate.
This is the moment I come for.
The drive to the Moors is always gorgeous. That was particularly so last night, sun beaming down as Kings Of Leon blares out of car speakers.
The evening, once the camp was pitched and BBQ finished, was equally spectacular, fading light slipping a tangerine filter over everything in sight.
But the morning, with the cool air, the dew and the piping-hot coffee my only companions, that's when I breath out. I exist, hinged in this time during January's darkest, coldest moments.
Kings of Leon is choice long, winding drive music.
Find Me and Pyro high on road trip playlists for me!
And I’m bumping Youth and Young Manhood all the way through!
Summer
My father’s favorite time of the year is summer. It was my favorite season too, but living in the Midwest I didn’t experience hot temperatures year-round. Anytime I called, he’d beg me to move down to Florida with him. Now that the house next door is for sale, he’s called me every day.
“Come on, honey. You know you wanna live here.”
“I do, I just can’t right now.” I replied.
I never took chances, except this time. Now, we drink our coffees in the warm sun together every morning.
Nothing could prepare us for 200°kelvin so nobody tried.
"It's a rite of passage; a welcome to LV 246. Just, you know, a polite hello to the Lovely Lady."
That's how Jinxy, the Acclimatisation Officer pitched it, anway.
"20 seconds outside in your thermal briefs, just so you know. Just so you respect where you are, learn to close doors, wear gloves, am I right?"
Longest 20 seconds of my life.
"can't wait for summer," I gurned through frozen jaws.
"This is fuckn summer! You think we do this at Christmas?!"
He could sense the warm ground under his bare feet. He noticed the chair he had placed under the tree, a good book on its arm. The sunshine touched his soul, lifting his spirits. He looked over at his garden and could feel the warm loam falling through his fingers. He pictured the warm winds whooshing through his hair as he rode his bicycle the five miles to the library.
With a sigh, he knew that four months was too long to wait. Soon he would be outside once again.
I didn't know where I wanted to go with this one. At first, it was: "Summer Welles.." .but that just wasn't doing it for me.
She looked out over the ocean’s waves, feeling a taunting breeze that swept her hair back, out of her sun-freckled face. There was little to do, as usual. The summer breeze outside the window was all she needed most days, but today, with the threat of rain and a storm brewing, she was trapped inside. Her little brother was being his annoying self; her mother ignoring him, with a book in her hand; her father drinking a beer. And then she saw the whale as it breeched the ocean’s surface, and turned away, searing the memory into her brain forever.
Thank you ,Wild Lionesses for the like
Oh this is a fun prompt! I hope you don't mind, but I copied your version...
___________________
Dearest V.W.H.,
I'm sorry you don't appreciate my sister, but she is necessary.
Many seeds need a spell of darkness and cold to germinate: Without Winter, you would miss artichokes, calming camomile, heather, lavender... no hops for beer, no milkweed for migrating monarchs.
No sweet maple syrup without a Winter's sleep for the trees.
The ticks, mosquitoes, and biting flies would flourish if I stayed forever.
If you insist on seeing me all year 'round, you could move to Florida... but beware the pythons!
See you soon!
Love,
Summer
___________________
Dang, it, I accidentally used 100 words! I just edited out 10 words... all done!
Loved getting the response letter! It really elevated both stories so nicely.
Impersonating Old Lady Siummer was kind of fun. 😉
That’s amazing 😂 I love when people expand on my prompt
I'm glad you were pleased and not annoyed!
All stories have a protagonist, an obstacle and a resolution. But not all struggles are equal. Some are for higher stakes.
Summer
The breeze tickled my skin under the hot, blue sky. A trickle of sweat ran down my temple while I lay in the ropes of my hammock.
My drink had run dry, the little paper parasol fallen away. I went back and forth between my desire for another so far away in the ice and just relaxing in the shade.
I lost, or won, the fight. I climbed out and went to the cooler, hand rummaging in the cold for another beverage.
My struggle in summer is all too real.
that feeling when everything is just toooooo much effort...
Summer / 90 words
A new girl in 8th grade homeroom class arrived. She transferred from another town, her family had moved. Her hair, the color of wheat at harvest time. Her eyes, that gave me only a quick glance, an impossible shade of blue. I couldn’t look away.
The next day, I approached her at lunch. Not out of summoned courage or false confidence, but because I had to. I was compelled to, no other choice existed. Her name was Summer, Summer Lawson, she said. I still remember that toxicating, warm Summer smile.
90 degrees Summer
Memorial day weekend summer starts. Lake ice melted. Test water, splash on face. My friends’ motorboat roars. I stand on dock with slalom ski. Tow rope slack tightens. Skis cross the glacé surface. Spray freezes skin first, then I’m numb; summer kicks in. Jump wakes. When I round the island’s big rock; see girl’s in bikinis. Graduation lifts spirits suntan lines. Boat heads to shore. I let go of toe rope. My body slips into daydreams and 45F water. I feel hot.
Bric lounged in his Lay-Z-Boy, margarita in hand. Tommy Bahama shirt unbuttoned over his paunch; chest hair circled by a flower lei. Soft Hawaiian rhythms filled the apartment, courtesy of Alexa.
Bric surveyed the Christmas tree in the corner, still standing a month after St. Nick’s departure.
“Maybe get that down by summer?” asked his wife Frannie.
He clasped hands with his 30-year bride beside him on the couch in her underwear.
“Summer’s a state of mind.”
She swabbed her forehead with a cold washcloth. “My hormones couldn’t agree more.”
Oh yeah, this man understands menopause! 😂
This turned out to be one of my favorites so far this year:
Lake Garrett craved summer. Summer meant beach and toes in hot sand and shells for her jar. But most of all, a chance at her favorite thing: sending out messages in bottles.
At the shore, she could whisper secrets of paper and glass. Cast them off to far off lands where folks begged to know her.
Then it finally happened. A bottle came back. Little shaking hands unwrapped its contents like food for a starving soul, eyes tracing every molecule of ink on the paper.
SEE YOU NEXT SUMMER, LAKE