Every Thursday at noon GMT, I publish one of my photos as a writing prompt. If you know where the photo was taken, please keep it to yourself until the challenge is closed and I usually share something about the place during the round-up.
Use the image and title provided as inspiration to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose, by noon (GMT) on Wednesday each week, and link back to the prompt post with a pingback to be included in the round-up. There is no word limit and no style requirements, except to keep it fairly family friendly and not passionately political.
All posts will be featured in the round-up on Thursday.
By Teresa Smeigh 2019
The bulldozers screeched to a halt and Mr. Ingalls yelled for the foreman of the job. “Please turn off your engines. I can’t hear myself think. Mr. Swanson where are you?”
“I am right here, what is your problem, Mr. Ingalls?”
“My problem is about to become your problem, sir! Call the historical society and find out who is in charge of old bones found during excavations.”
“What could you possibly mean?”
“Mr. Swanson, the bulldozers just broke through all these thick roots and pulled up bone fragments. It is obvious that these bones have been here for quite some time so we are going to have to bring in the historical society and a specialist to look at them before you go any further with your project.”
“I won’t allow you to stop my project. The housing development must go on. I have a deadline.”
“You also have a missing wife from many long years ago. This project is not going anywhere, anytime soon sir.”
“Marty please call the police,” Mr. Ingalls said. “They need to be advised as well. This could very well be the body of the missing Mrs. Annalise Swanson. We need to find out just how old these bones really are. Those roots have been growing for many years at least, they aren’t recent.”
George Swanson pulls a gun and tells everyone to stay back. “I’ll shoot if I have to.”
No one moves. George Swanson edges towards the bulldozer and indicates to the driver that he is to get off. With Swanson’s attention on the bulldozer, he doesn’t see the police drive up. No lights or sirens were used. Swanson climbs on the bulldozer and was swiftly surrounded by armed policemen.
“Throw down your weapon George,” the chief of police yells. “We don’t want to have to shoot you.”
George shoots and one of the rookies shoots him in the arm he was shooting with. The policemen rushed him and cuffed him. He was yelling he was in pain and wanted to be taken to the hospital.
“You’ll get there soon enough George,” the chief says. “It isn’t life-threatening. You have some explaining to do. Is it Annalise?”
“Oh bother, yes it is. She was just a nag. I couldn’t take it anymore. I set it up that she had taken off with another man she had been seeing and I killed them both and buried them out here. You’ll find two sets of bones.”
“Well, you are about to rot in jail for the rest of your life.”
Advocate for mental health and invisible illnesses, also a devout Christian