Our Friday Freewriting process is this: One of us fetches the prompts from random online generators, the other handles timing the segements of the exercise. When we’re done, we read our stories out loud to each other before posting. I really do love seeing what we each come up with; but there are definitely times that I have to suppress a twinge of jealousy. Robert’s idea to set his story in pre-history with his main character inventing and improvising during his hunt is fun. I ended up with a main character who nearly dies of self-inflicted stupidity. I nearly did have him freeze to death, but I know enough folks in Search and Rescue that I decided to write his survival instead. People don’t let people freeze to death if they can help it. So Jonathan and Samantha are able to continue their ill-advised trek through the mountains in the winter.
As usual, if you end up writing a story to go with these prompts, I’d love to see it. Stay safe out there, friends.
- Character: Skier
- Object: Bowl
- Genre/Tone: Historical
Jonathan slipped through the trees, his skis slicing over the snow, the air glittered in the setting sun. He adjusted his fur lined gaiter over the lower half of his face, his nose felt like a block of ice, his wooden goggles jostled, and he realized that they had nearly frozen to his face. The sled carrying his supplies was still firmly tied around his waist.
He was not lost, per se. He just did not have a map to take him the rest of the way. Somewhere north of him was a cabin, where Samantha waited for him on their trek to find a passage over these mountains. He’d taken too long getting supplies and the near negligible heat of the day vanished with the light.
The light disappeared and the sky transformed into a vast bowl of stars above him, he forgot his fear as he marveled at them. And his face smacked a low hanging branch. He was flung backwards, he felt one of his skis catch and snap off of his boot. He lay in the snow and stared up into the sky. “Idiot,” he thought to himself; his goggles were torn off, but they’d protected his eyes. He struggled to his feet and wiped the blood out of his eyes. He removed his unbroken ski and carried it, began trudging through the snow, pulling hat and gaiter closer about his face.
He walked for what felt like forever, a little dazed, focused on moving. He watched the moonrise in front of him. He stopped. The moon was set to rise in the east tonight, he remembered that much. He was headed in the wrong direction. Tears of terror and frustration sprang into his eyes, and they started to freeze shut. There was no hope for him finding the cabin tonight, he finally realized. He settled into the slight shelter that a nearby cluster of trees created, and built a fire of some sticks and the wood of his ski. He fell asleep trying get warm, not daring to hope that he’d open his eyes again.
But he did wake up again. He was lying on his back, moving swiftly under the deep well of stars. Samantha was dragging him on a sled, back to the cabin. He groaned with relief.
“You were going in the right direction, believe it or not. You mistook the lights I lit to guide you as the moon – your head injury probably helped with that.” She said.
“How did you find me?”
“I saw your fire go up, I went to check it out. Why didn’t you use any of the supplies to set up camp for the night?”
He had no good answer. “I honestly thought I could make it.”
She shook her head, and brought him warming drinks. “We’ll stay here a few more days, until you’re better. And next time, just stop and set up camp.”
Robert says:
For the record, Megan, I’m often jealous of how focused and personal your stories are. This one, for example, manages to explore some some of Jonathan’s inner life and experience as well as telling a suspenseful story. It’s awesome!