Five Card Story: Frozen Dew

a Five Card Flickr story by Chloe Madigan and Lizanne Hamilton created Apr 18 2014, 02:44:22 am. Create a new one!

flickr photo credits: (1) bionicteaching (2) bionicteaching (3) hummingcrow (4) bionicteaching (5) Serenae

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It all started with an open field. A couple telephone wires were strung across it-but nothing fancy. I sometimes wished myself away from this boring town in northern Maine, but it never worked. And NOTHING exciting EVER happened here. Until one day in early July, the summer of my thirteenth year. Then everything changed.
*
The frozen dew crunched under my bare feet, my frigid fingertips clutching the photograph. One of the only things that kept me going. Why, oh why, did I not bring gloves? I swore under my breath. Brimming like root beer float froth, my anger bubbled up like toothpaste in my throat and chest. The water on the field crisped beneath my toes. Cotton-candy like bursts of fluff hung in the sky-clouds. Roe was right when she insisted my mind was like a constant rolling stream, tripping over itself, gears turning and whizzing until they come to a nonsense conclusion.
*
And now I'm riding in the backseat of a cab, the road stretching out in front of me like a ribbon. When Father was still alive, he always told me this: "When you're riding in the backseat to success, be happy that you're in the car at all. Maybe someday, you'll be able to take the wheel." As I'm riding along, with Roe (my older sister) driving, I'm thinking about that. WILL I ever be able to drive the success-car? Or will I forever have to be satisfied with the backseat?
*
When I got back from my excursion, Pfeiffer and Vernon were striking the duck in my front yard. the not-so-lucky duck sneezed and blew up like a carnival rollercoaster. The foggy Maine shores exaggerated his chiseled features.

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<hr /><h2><a href="http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?id=34675">Five Card Story: Frozen Dew</a></h2>a <a href="http://5card.cogdogblog.com/show.php?suit=5card">Five Card Flickr</a> story created by Chloe Madigan and Lizanne Hamilton
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/6110506001/"><img src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6064/6110506001_5aced7915a_z.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/6110506001/" target="_blank">bionicteaching</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/6339289860/"><img src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6115/6339289860_c384251f44_z.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/6339289860/" target="_blank">bionicteaching</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/36756918@N00/2123060924/"><img src="https://live.staticflickr.com/2266/2123060924_258fedabe1_z.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/36756918@N00/2123060924/" target="_blank">hummingcrow</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/5948621367/"><img src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6123/5948621367_d120603291_z.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/29096601@N00/5948621367/" target="_blank">bionicteaching</a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/9445648@N03/6262324720/"><img src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6039/6262324720_aed9449b22_z.jpg" /></a> flickr photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/9445648@N03/6262324720/" target="_blank">Serenae</a>
It all started with an open field. A couple telephone wires were strung across it-but nothing fancy. I sometimes wished myself away from this boring town in northern Maine, but it never worked. And NOTHING exciting EVER happened here. Until one day in early July, the summer of my thirteenth year. Then everything changed. 
 * 
The frozen dew crunched under my bare feet, my frigid fingertips clutching the photograph. One of the only things that kept me going. Why, oh why, did I not bring gloves? I swore under my breath. Brimming like root beer float froth, my anger bubbled up like toothpaste in my throat and chest. The water on the field crisped beneath my toes. Cotton-candy like bursts of fluff hung in the sky-clouds. Roe was right when she insisted my mind was like a constant rolling stream, tripping over itself, gears turning and whizzing until they come to a nonsense conclusion. 
 * 
And now I'm riding in the backseat of a cab, the road stretching out in front of me like a ribbon. When Father was still alive, he always told me this: "When you're riding in the backseat to success, be happy that you're in the car at all. Maybe someday, you'll be able to take the wheel." As I'm riding along, with Roe (my older sister) driving, I'm thinking about that. WILL I ever be able to drive the success-car? Or will I forever have to be satisfied with the backseat? 
 * 
When I got back from my excursion, Pfeiffer and Vernon were striking the duck in my front yard. the not-so-lucky duck sneezed and blew up like a carnival rollercoaster. The foggy Maine shores exaggerated his chiseled features.
<hr />

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flickr photo credits: (1) bionicteaching (2) bionicteaching (3) hummingcrow (4) bionicteaching (5) Serenae

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