At the writer’s group that I’m in, we take it in turns running mini writing workshops. At one that I ran late last year, I grabbed various items from around the house: a coloured ball of wool with a crotchet hook sticking out of it; an old silver match holder from my grandfather that has engravings upon it; a colourful scarf; a tiny teapot and teacup; a fedora; and a red lace fan. These items were to be used as writing prompts and to create a story that included them.
We all chose our items and then were given fifteen minutes to write a short story or passage. I chose the lace fan, the coloured wool and crochet hook, and the teacup. Here is my story:
She held the crochet hook in her wrinkled hand and the brightly coloured wool in another. For a time, nothing could be heard except the creak of her rocking chair, the pedestal fan making its way back and forth, the panting of her dog lying beside her, and the hot wind howling around the house scorching the plants in her garden with its hot breath.
She paused, laid down her work and sipped her warm tea from her teacup now chipped with stories. She picked up her red lace fan to bring some relief to her flushed face. As she spread the lace open, her eyes lit upon the figures dancing across the screen. Memories flooded her mind of an incredible and adventurous summer that she had spent in Spain when she was younger. Much, much younger.
A wistful smile touched her lips. These were happy memories. Wonderful and cherished. Flashes of swirling skirts of the Flamenco Dancers whirling around in a dance that seemed without end. Dark eyes catching her own across the plaza. Her blush hidden behind her red lace fan. The many late nights of that long summer spent talking until the sun ascended like a gigantic red and orange rose over the sea. The hot summer days swimming in the ocean together. Promises spoken late at night.
She sipped her now cold tea. She smiled again. She glanced up. Those same dark eyes were looking at her; untouched by time. A smile reached his lips as his hands reached for hers. Who knew that love could exist like this?
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