Morning all and welcome to Friday. I can’t lie it feels like a relief to actually have made it to Friday. For me this week was a bit of a brutal one. Nevertheless Friday has looped around and here we are safe and sound. I think part of the brutality was that this is also the end of the month. There was a lot to wrap up and get sorted. I know it sounds strange because it is only one day, but months with thirty days always seem off to me. I know the one day extra in the month doesn’t actually make that much of a difference but for some reason months with thirty days always leave me feeling like i am scrambling. Still April wasn’t too bad. I’ll be posting the recap of the fourth month of The Fifteen Minute Novel Experiment later on today, but for now, let’s get to the morning writing prompt and get Friday started. Ready? Then set those times and let’s go.
Have you ever started a story and known that if you do write it you are going to have to cause your character some massive trauma? Yeah, that’s sort of how I feel looking at this one. I like it, but I know, I will have to put the hero through the ringer before the end of the story. Don’t get me wrong, this does look like something I might want to sink my teeth into. But yea, massive emotional trauma.
Friday, April 30th: On the island, ordinary rules did not apply.
On the island, ordinary rules did not apply. Bedtimes were forgotten and the fact that all meals needed to include a vegetable seemed to slip people’s minds. The days seemed to stretch out into endless hours of warmth and laughter. Even the adults forgot time tables, budgets, upcoming dental appointments and shucked their everyday clothing, losing neckties and coats, slipping out of heels and running free across the sand. For two weeks every year everyone acquired softer edges as daily concerns were blurred by smiles.
Afterwards no one could quite say what they did for those two weeks. All the memories sort of blurred together as though the warm sun melted them into one like wax in the heat. Thinking back the memories came in flashes from the senses. Warm gritty sand beneath bare feet. The feel of waves pulling grains from under your feet with each wave. The softness of the saltwater. The taste of marshmallows and the scent of the nightly bonfires. They all wove together in a visceral tapestry that went beyond mere memory.
It was something he carried with him.
But time passed and one by one, those who joined in those glorious two weeks each year faded away. Finally he was the only one left living with those memories. It was with the final death that he came across the paperwork. The deed to that little place that existed out of the normal stream of time and care. The place that existed only in the warm summer sun.
It did in fact exist in reality. And according to the terms of the will, the place was now his. There was a moment when he stared at the page in disbelief, thinking, after all of the harsh reality of the past few years, that this was some sort of joke. Surely the place of sun and laughter was a hallucination, something conjured as a coping mechanism. Yet the salt air and scent of the bonfire stayed with him and the could practically taste the ocean on his lips.
It was real.
Once it became real it seemed like an even crueler joke. It was the warm spot in his memories. A treasured space in his childhood connected to nothing that could ever do it harm. Now he was faced with the cold adult reality of existence. How would those memories stand up against the reality of the place? He stared at the paper. The rational adult side of him knew he had to visit, if only to appraise th property and make certain it was secure. The childish part of him wanted to hide the paper away and forget he saw it. The battle between the opposing forces raged within him. The need to protect the memory was quite strong. In the end though, the child gave way before adult sensibility. He made the travel arrangements.