I was given two prompts over the last couple of days, which were:
‘There was a certain wistfulness in the air that evening’ and
‘You’re standing alone in a field, there probably isn’t another human within 5 miles.’
15 minutes, no editing, ready, steady, go stuff! It’s a bit painfully melodramatic, but it is off the top of my head so I hope you can forgive me for that.
I’m not posting the wistful bit of writing because it’s just too bad to share, but I’ll be brave and post the latter one. In all truth, this is loosely based on a personal experience…..I shall tell you more if you like. (***BEEP****BEEEEP! That is your blatant cliffhanger alert)
You’re standing alone in a field, there probably isn’t another human within 5 miles.
I’ve walked and walked to clear my head, I think I’ve walked enough now. Surely if I concentrate I can remember the way back, it’s been a long way though. Brrr…it’s got a bit chilly, must remember a waterproof jacket next time. I wonder what time it is. The sun is a little low in the sky. I crouch next to a damp, moss covered wall and tuck my arms around my middle. A couple of sheep baa in the distance and a lapwing cries ‘Peeeewit!’ somewhere. It is bit lonely now. – better that than crowded with people though. I’m so glad I got out for a while.
Clouds are starting to scud across the sky, the wind must be getting up. Uncurling myself, I stand up and walk towards what I think is a farmhouse. I could ask for directions there I reckon. Tripping over hidden hummocks of spongy heather I stagger zig zag fashion across the fields, nearly losing my sandal in a muddy boggy patch in the process. I reach the farmhouse and walk to the door. It’s locked, no answer. It’s downright freezing now, the sun is just dipping behind the hills.
There’s a strange smell and I follow my nose around the corner, there’s two dead sheep piled up right against the farmhouse wall. They’ve been there for a while, and I cover my mouth whilst backing away. As I walk away from the farmhouse, shivering now, I notice an outhouse that doesn’t look to be locked, the door is swinging and banging to and fro – decision time. It’s dusk, it’s colder than a witches tit as they say in these parts and I can’t remember how to get home. What else is there to do? Reluctantly I wander over to the barn, and notice it smells even worse in here. In fact it smells awful, but it’s cold. Perhaps it’s just an old stinking goathouse, least I’d be out of the weather….. I hold the door still to stop it slamming in my face and peer around the corner. I feel sick, I think I’m going to be sick! My gut reaction is to slam the door and run, and run and not stop, and shout for help, but it’s dark now and the growing fog muffles my cries.