Post Scripted Tales

Here it comes: Your first installment of post scripted tales. We take the last sentence of a novel, famous speech, document, news report, song, poem, play, opera, or cereal box legal print and use it as the start of our story. 

Just like our other projects, we will hold the story to 300 words, not including the starting line. Our efforts will be published once a week for you, our readers, to judge.

This week's assignment: 

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

So, without further ado:

Geraniums

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. The engines hummed. My head began throbbing. Rena gave me a smile as she buckled in.    

The flashing began: red to blue, back to red and blinding white. My eyes felt pushed against the back of my head. The ship shuddered under the weight of time bending speed. The clock began counting backward from our present to our next past. Black.

Rena pinched my wrist  to pull me back to. She handed me my pack and gave me a hand out of my jump chair. “How’s the head?”

“Better on this side”.

“It says 2013.6.14. Print out says: 3^rd Planter at 1430 Pennsylvania 3 inches left. 2.13PM”

“It’s what the plan says, Rena. It would be nice to have a little more action than a planter.” I smiled as I threw the pack on my back and stepped through the vacuum door into the daylight.

Streets were empty. Sky was clear. Humidity had to be 90%. I found the location and the planter. Geraniums. I hadn’t seen those in years, figuratively of course.  3 inches left. Check. Slipped back across the street before the entourage of sunglasses, imposing men began to clear the sidewalk. 

I stepped through the vacuum door to find Rena sitting in front of the monitor watching this evening’s video news.  “You saved a big one this time, Tem”.

I sat down next to her. “What do we have?”

“Look closely to the left of the screen”. She zoomed way in and pointed. A beetle scurried left to right, looking for a way to avoid the approaching crowd. I tensed as he darted toward the planter I had just moved. Right before a certain stomping, he made it under the planter. “That’s Professor Dennit. Remember? Light Speed?”

“Right. That’s a good save”

My head began to throb. 

A Cock-Eyed Optimist

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

It might sound a little pretentious. Who uses the word “borne,” anyway? Perhaps I should describe it simply as pushing a rather heavy boulder up a very steep hill. Over and over again. Like that Greek guy. You know who I’m talking about, right?

Well, anyway, it was a royal pain in the ass. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the ache in my shoulders, in my calves, in my neck. But we just kept going. We had to.             

I can laugh about it now. How could I find myself in such a position? I went to Convent of the Sacred Heart and Columbia. I was head of M&A at Goldman Sachs. I never even touched doors. They were always held open for me.

I guess that was the problem. Life just got boring.

So I walked away. Headed to JFK and hopped on the first international flight I could find. It eventually took me to where I am today. Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. After some awkward sunburns, I settled in. I couldn’t relax of course. I started organizing some of the locals. Helping them get a better return on their fishing. It was fun. It was meaningless. I didn’t miss Manhattan.

But then the tsunami hit. And we’ve been cleaning up ever since. The debris is incredible. The devastation is awesome. And we’re grinding it out every day. Pushing giant pieces of buildings off the shore. Cleaning up the beaches so the fisherman can get back out to sea with their nets.

And I’m learning more about myself then I ever learned in 10 years of therapy. And I still don’t miss Manhattan.

What do you think? 

Feel free to let us know--we're always looking for feedback.

And be sure to tune in next week. Our ending sentence: 

"From here on in I rag nobody."

Post Scripted Tales

From the literary tradition that has brought you the classics Three Blind Muse and Daily Happy comes:

Post Scripted Tales

Here's the gig: We take the last sentence of a novel, famous speech, document, news report, song, poem, play, opera, or cereal box legal print and use it as the start of our story. 

Just like our other projects, we will hold the story to 300 words, not including the starting line. Our efforts will be published once a week for you, our readers, to judge.

This week's assignment: 

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Extra bonus points if you can guess the origin of this sentence.

We'll be putting our stories together here at Ashford Living. And if you want to be a guest writer, send your story to me, rcdavis3rd@gmail.com. Remember to follow the rules. If you do, we'd be more than happy to have you in the show! 

I Go Out Walking

Henkel butts up against Dinosaur State Park here in Rocky Hill. I've taken to afternoon walks to get some fresh air and clear the old noggin, and the park is a great place to do it. They have a series of trails that run through the hills and the swamp that make up the park. It's never crowded, as all the kids are at the dinosaur footprint station making keepsakes.

Here's a look at some of the plants I saw during my last stroll:

Wild flowers

Old Car body growing into tree

Patch of purple flowers

Richard Simmons

Yellow Flower

Pom-Pom Flower

Fern 

Fern Gully