#SwiftFicFriday Week 83 : Longwood Gardens Picture Prompt

Walking the streets for days got me nowhere. I didn’t even have dreams at night that helped me find her. That’s the trouble with my gift, I suppose. How random it is, how it suddenly puts something in my head, out of the blue, and changes everything.

After a week of walking, I needed a break. Deborah told me to go watch the water in the lake at the park, and to walk among the trees and flowers. She knew me, and knew how much that would restore me, rebuild me, so I could keep looking.

If I’d ever learned what my own feelings were, I would have known my heart was telling me I needed that visit. But, I never was able to figure out what I felt. Sometimes, Deborah had to figure it out for me.

I’d walked among the trees, and spent hours touching them, their bark, their leaves, the ground they grew from. Sometimes, I thought they talked with me, told me about all the time they’d seen pass, the people that came and went, some who came frequently, and grew old, and stopped coming. Others, who came once, like they were checking a box on a bucket list, and never came back.

“You know, anyone else would call me a Fruit Loop. Listening to the trees.” I swear they laughed.

Eventually, I found my way to the lake, fake as it was, just a hole dug in the ground, surrounded by rocks, to help it keep its shape. It had a little man made waterfall on one end. The trees had taken a liking to it. Made the entire place look more real.

I sat on the grass, and watched the water, and trees.

And just like that, I knew where she was.

298 Words

It’s Week 83 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.


#ThursThreads Week 468 : It Takes Me Back

The streets were always swarming with traffic. Honking horns, racing engines, screaming tires, and all the rest. No one walked. Walking got you killed. Yet, there I was, walking. One block this way, three blocks that way, then a block back on the other side of the street.

It was all I could do to find her, the one who was calling for help. I didn’t have a name, or a description. Didn’t know her size, race, hair color. I didn’t know anything, except she was one of the hidden.

Like me.

The only way I had to find her was to sleep, and hope I found her in a dream, or to walk everywhere, and hope I  wound up where she needed me to be. It was the same way I’d found Deborah, and so many others. Some strange, hidden ability to know where to be, where to go, to help someone who needed help.

“It takes me back to think about it.” And it did. Back to my past, like the first time I wound up somewhere I needed to be. I didn’t know it was a gift, then. Didn’t know I was one of the hidden. I’d done what felt right, followed my instincts, let my emotions guide me. And I wound up finding someone who’d been shot, and dumped in an alley, hidden from sight, and left there to die.

That was the first time I’d helped someone.

242 Words

It’s Week 468 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. The prompt told me to write this. It didn’t ask. It ordered. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.