Story: Tree house

Had to have a think about today’s story for the Wednesday Write-in. I was pretty stuck on the sounds of the words this week, ‘stretched, tree house, tooth, tracks’, all the t’s and r’s and h’s really playing on my mind. Call me a poet.

So last week was an empty house, and this week the tree house prompt was where I began. I wanted to write a story about an apple tree, but it didn’t work out. One of the prompts last week was hunger, and that seems to be recurring this week.  I also had to mention ‘tracks’, it’s been a popular prompt so far with other people’s stories. Here is what did come out:

 

It was a step to cross. A large step that required jeans and balance. There was a moment you trembled on the mossy stones before your hands could clutch at the tree. You would spring from one tree to the other. It was an easy route spanning the rugby fields, the cove-like lawn that was littered with dog walkers, the newly developed netball ground. The day she fell in she couldn’t laugh it off. While they all laughed she couldn’t even remember the saying, sticks and stones may break my bones, names will never hurt me, surrounded by twigs. The girls picked bits of bark up and flicked them at her. They harmlessly bounced and she sat on the bank, very still, while the bark collected around her. It piled up. They began choosing bigger bits, and some tore off tree branches, still fresh and living. Building a ground bound tree house. A green fly sat on her finger, and she watched it as old leaves mingled with new in her hair. The others were intent, occasionally messing around and giggling but when they drew close to her silent, carefully adjusting each layer. Like boys building dams, testing the weaknesses. One was stuffing the gaps with grass, pulled out in her fists. When they’d finished they clapped their creation, then left her inside her camouflage. She stayed there, very quiet, waiting for her hunger to wake her. Until her body reminded her she was human, she knew she wasn’t, she was a field monument, a scarecrow tracking the path of birds as they swerved to avoid her. But then her stomach grumbled, and her time was up. She moved her arm, and she shed.

 

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9 thoughts on “Story: Tree house

  1. This IS strange 😀 I like it. I’m glad you had a thought about the sounds of the prompts. As I was writing them I realised that sounds kept repeating, but every time I replaced one I just ended up with another similar sound, so I resigned myself to it! There are some lovely sounds in this story – I really feel ilke it needs to be read aloud – like tore off tree brances, ground bound. Lovely!

    • Haha, ‘this IS strange’. I enjoy your capitals. I blame the prompts for the overt alliteration in this piece :P. Maybe I’ll read it at the Shaken stories event some point. It’s funny how people who have been writing each week are starting to link their stories, so Jacky Hillary has done a prequel, yours is a continuation. I felt like this might have been the same girl who was in my story last week….

  2. Reblogged this on CAKE.shortandsweet and commented:
    Featured writer this week: Becca Audra!

    This little piece definitely betrays Rebecca’s poetic background, straying from the reality of difficult teenage years into a wild magical realism where a girl becomes part of the natural world around her. We really enjoyed how this evoked childhood; a sense of loneliness and isolation, translating it into a literal isolation from her peers. Keep writing, Becca!

    On another note, Becca you have also reached ten WWI points this week – let us know if you want us to concrit a story for you!

  3. I have often thought that those odd little memories of childhood – especially when something painful has happened, really lend themselves to this kind of larger than life language, that moment when you really believe, as a child, that if you are still enough and quiet enough and want it enough, then you will turn into this other thing……this is absolutely beautiful, really loved the way you expressed the whole episode.

    • Thank you. I found it quite a hard piece to write, it felt like a vulnerable piece of writing, so it’s lovely that it has had a good reception. I wasn’t sure how to end it as well, I went back and deleted an end line, then I stuck on shed. Seemed appropriate.

  4. Pingback: Bruntwood: Monologue | beccaaudra

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