Friday Fictioneers – Life and Death

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Life and Death

I have walked many days through the primeval forest to reach this tree. Red bark, dark leaves, it stretches into the sky, a monarch. As I lay my hand along that red bark, I feel the sharp rebuke of the tree:

Pay some respect.

I step away and make namaste; I honour the spirit within.

I hear the life of the forest, its growing and its dying; I feel the shelter it gives to small creatures and to large; I share their reverence for the trees. The forest is alive, conscious.

In the distance, a chainsaw snarls.

InLinkz – click here to join the fun!

Friday Fictioneers – Pan’s Pipes

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

FF - Pan's pipes 180801

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Pan’s pipes

Pan took his pipes from his lips. Nature shuddered. Bees that had bumbled in wildflowers vanished from meadows; birds no longer sang evensong in woodlands; lions were forced by lack of prey to scavenge carrion.

But men.

Men had ignored Pan for decades. They had burned fossil fuels to keep him at bay, to be safe. They worshipped the car; television; money. They had beaten Pan.

In the Arctic, methane seeped from previously frozen tundra, and the ice burned.

In the Antarctic, a billion-tonne iceberg calved from an ice-sheet.

Pan propped his pipes against a fence, sighed, and departed.

 

Neil Macdonald, a writer whose opinion I value highly, has suggested that the story would be better if it were less declamatory. I think he’s probably right. So here’s a revised version!

I’d be fascinated to know what others think, and whether this second version is an improvement!

Pan’s pipes (version 2)

Pan took his pipes from his lips. Nature shuddered. Bees that had bumbled in wildflowers vanished from meadows, birds no longer sang evensong in woodlands, and lions were forced by lack of prey to scavenge carrion.

Men, though, were different.

Fearing Pan, they had forced him out of their lives, burning fossil fuels ever faster as they rushed about in planes and cars, or numbed themselves with the flickering images of television. They overwhelmed him, until ice burned in the Arctic and billion-tonne icebergs calved from ice-sheets in the Antarctic.

Pan propped his pipes against a fence, sighed, and departed.