Welcome to Week 3 of my creative challenge.
I invite you to join me.
Each week on Tuesday (as time permits), I’ll post a word, a phrase, a picture, or an idea that will constitute a prompt from which to write a poem, a flash fiction piece (not longer than 200 words), an original photograph, an original artwork, or a combination of these things that you think applies to the week’s theme.
Interpret the theme as you see fit. The only rules are that you be creative, be original, and have fun. Post your entry on your own blog and add your link to the InLinkz page (see little blue frog link below).
As with most challenges of this sort, I encourage you to provide feedback, respectful critiques, or general comments. Simple “Likes” are good too!
This week I give you two words: BARK and DUST. I’ve written a flash fiction piece. I hope you enjoy it.
Into the dust
Wyatt slumped against a boulder next to a stand of mesquite while his horse grazed the sparse grass. The searing heat of the sun forced its way through his clothing making the sweaty stench of days on the trail seep back out through salt-whitened stains. Dry desert winds raised dust eddies blocking his view of the Mexican border from where he’d just ridden.
He’d never go back. He couldn’t. Maria was gone. Two little wooden crosses marked the graves where she and little Camilla were buried. Maria had loved the trees on that hill overlooking the little village of Río de Oro. Last year she had carved three tiny hearts into the bark of the largest tree.
They were happy then. The only peace and contentment he’d ever known was now gone. He’d ride out his days escaping the treachery he’d caused and the men who were now hunting him down.
The shots meant for him took his life, yet he still breathed and walked.
If he could go back in time, he’d never get tangled up with the man he once thought of as family. He trusted him, and now he paid the price. For what? The old man said the legend was true. No one would ever know. No one had entered that cave in more than twenty years. The gold was there for the taking.
He knew better. Maria had warned him too. She knew.
Four bullets into his father’s chest. If they hadn’t done it, he would have.