Monday, May 11, 2009

Nesting - 50 word story



He sends her a piece of grass every day. No letter, no note. At first she keeps them tied in pink ribbon. But then she starts to weave them into a shape moulded by her fingers. When she’s got enough, when she’s built their shelter, she knows he will come.

6 comments:

annie clarkson said...

I really like this, a quirky piece. Although I have to say, I did think, typical, the woman does all the hard work and he'll appear (might appear) when it's done. I'm Ms Cynical hm?

Sarah Salway said...

You are right! But then we don't know what he's had to go through to get the grass...

abha said...

Love this one,Sarah,its actually very beautiful-full of hope.Thank you.

Sarah Salway said...

Thanks, abha. I appreciate you reading my stories.

Kathryn said...

He wanted red linoleum and cream walls. Her tastes had changed. She wanted something to remind her of the fresh hay in the meadows, the softness of chick's feathers and the exaggerated colour of wet flowers in April. Why couldn't she just tell him that she was pregnant, he wondered?

Douglas Bruton said...

Sarah said: 'But then we don't know what he's had to go through to get the grass'... and so I thought of this:

Not just any grass, Amildhan picks. Selects with care. Every stem dry and straight. Wider in the middle. And he presses it flat, like a tear of paper. On it he writes words. Poems confessing he loves her. Then he sends the grass, one piece at a time, to Sarupa