642 things to write about – The Bicycle Accident

I’ve been entering a lot of short story competitions lately – to no avail but you’ve got to keep trying – and as a sideline to editing Choose Yr Future I decided to try some writing prompts to see if I could come up with something that I could develop further so I would have a bank of stories. 

You wake up at the side of the road lying next to a bicycle, with no memory and no wallet. What happens next?

When I open my eyes all below me is grey. The surface is cold and I’m stretched out on it. My arms are over my head and I’m nose down. There is pain but it is non-specific. All over. Everything hurts.

First step, raise head. The world is still grey. Clouds meet the road on the horizon. Pushing up further brings about twangs and clicks. Specific pain runs up and down both arms. What have I been doing? Pause before next step while I steel myself for the pain to come. Deep breath. Onto knees. Now legs are joining in with groans of pain and stiffness. The question comes to me from the side, how long have I been here?

A further look around. The road, the hedges, the bridge mean nothing. Low menacing clouds which threaten and suggest I should get home but where was that?

Final step. On feet and scanning properly. My head spins a little as the blood finds itself on high once again. There is a house up ahead. Was that home? It was still a good walk away. But it was a direction to head in. I look behind me, turning slowly which is wise because everything shifts sideways and I wobble. I bend to put my head between my knees and slowly stillness returns. As I’m bent, I see the means of my getting here. Well, I assume. A bicycle. A vision of the air flying past my head and the ground rushing up to me sends me dizzy again. I sit down heavily and each joint and muscle takes its turn in shouting out the pain.

Time passes. I can’t move. My head is too unreliable. I check through my pockets. I could phone someone perhaps. But they are absolutely empty. No phone. No purse. No keys. Nothing. No bag. Not even strapped to the bike. Had I been robbed? Maybe everything had scattered from the bike. But no chance of finding that until I could stop the dizziness.

A car. It is moving fast and I do the same. Foolishly. Darkness grabs me and the next thing I see is a concerned face, quite close to mine. He smiles and a wave of relief comes across his weathered face.

“Thank God.” His voice is soft. He doesn’t want to frighten. “I’ve no idea how to do the kiss of life.”

642 things to write about – A woman thinks she might be living next to her grandson

From 642 things to write about – A woman thinks she is living next door to her grandson.

He was playing outside again. His features were so familiar, she almost expected that he had jumped out of a family photo. The bright blue eyes and fair, curly hair. Family traits that had been passed onto all three of her children. The one he was most like was her youngest. The daughter she hadn’t seen for so long it was an effort of mathematics to remember the number of years. She watched him through her net curtain. He was so full of energy; darting here and there, never completely still. She’d been like that too, such a live wire. 

It was impossible. That was what she had to keep running through her mind. She knew the couple next door and there was no possible link. They’d moved in with the boy when he’d been six months old. It hadn’t been so obvious then. Just another baby. But now, it was heartbreaking. He turned and was momentarily facing her. He grinned, holding up something in his hand so his mother could see it. He was so much the image of her daughter that she almost ran out and snatched him up. Then he turned away and she made herself repeat again the impossibility of it all.

Perhaps it was just a product of her own longing. She saw her other children and the ones they had produced but the one she really wanted to see would never be coming back. And she knew whose fault that was. She watched as the boy trotted into his house, trying to keep a hold on herself. Why was she so intent on this form of torture? Everyday she came to the window to remind herself how impossible it all was. She couldn’t rest until she had seen the boy and reminded herself that he was nothing to do with her. Her mind would not let go until she was utterly destroyed.

642 things to write about – Write an alphabetical story.

Writing Prompt – Write a story in which each sentence will start with a different letter of the alphabet e.g. start with A, move on to B and so on.

This was quite good fun. And I know I didn’t get all the way through but I couldn’t think of an X word. If you can come up with a sentence starting with X, please let me know.

At this time in the morning, the sky was still dark. Bryan got up anyway. Carefully, he slid out of the covers. Downstairs others were starting to stir. Excitement started to touch him. Fairly soon, he’d be getting his fill. Grabbing a towel and tying it around his waist, he headed for the communal showers.

Hot water stabbed at his shoulders. In no time at all, he was clean and properly awake. Just as quickly, he toweled himself down. Knocking his knee on the sink, he cursed his haste. Likelihood of bruising, high. Muttering to himself, he hurried back to his bedroom.

Now, he was fully dressed. Opening his door, he saw others heading in the same direction. Perhaps he should have hurried even more. Quickly, he tried to get ahead, to be one of the first. Rationally, he knew that there would be enough for all but his growling belly pushed him on.

Still he couldn’t get to the front of the queue. Too many to push out of the way. Unless someone fainted, he’d be stuck where he was. Very soon, he thought, it’ll be me who faints. What would happen then?