Tuesday, 3 March 2015


Write a 500 word (give or take) story related to the prompt (either 2 photos or 1 photo/5 words)

In the case of 5 Words your words must be clearly indicated in the story
Please remember the photos used are the property of the WWBH Host in question (unless otherwise stated). While you are welcome to use the photo in your blogpost, please do not share as your own works (credit is very much appreciated).

Photo credit: Tena

And Your Five Words:
  • Mine
  • Resemble
  • Messenger
  • Crew
  • Gaunt

Please make mention that your story is for the Writer Wednesday Blog Hop (WWBH). While not required, a link to the hop is appreciated. Also appreciated is if you tag your story WWBH 

Here is my story: 

It really wasn't fair.  Gareth was always the messenger; he was always the one they picked on to trek up the lonely road to his grandparents’ place, just because he was the oldest boy.  There were telegraph poles lined along the dirt track, in this day and age they could have at least installed a telephone.  Grandpa and grandma didn't even have a television.  Gareth had no idea what they did all day; they were just two old folks who shuffled along in their tiny wooden shack that for some reason they refused to leave.

His friends at school often dared him to take them out there.  They had heard the rumours of an old gold mine up in the mountains, they talked of the gold that must be left in the old shaft, they could make a day of it and pan for gold in the river and then they would all be rich.

Billy and Joe and Pete discussed the merits of such an endeavour with Gareth.  They said they would be his crew and promised he could be their leader.   Gareth took it all in, he thought long and hard about it and especially today as he cycled along the uneven road, the speed limit sign mocked him, as if he could cycle that fast, he was only ten years old, his legs weren't powerful enough.  When he was older maybe, he could build up his muscles and stamina and maybe he could resemble Bradley Wiggins the famous cyclist he saw on the telly, thin powerful legs, pumping away in rhythm with the pounding of his heart. 

Gareth reached the cabin and called out to his grandparents.  A wavering wail came from within the wooden walls.  He stepped in to the dark and gloomy interior and saw his grandpa sitting in the rocking chair, a gaunt expression on his face.  He was holding a picture of his grandma in his hands.

‘She’s gone, lad, gone.’ His grandfather had tears mingling in amongst his whiskery beard.  ‘Last night she breathed her last.’

Gareth stared and stared at his grandpa. He didn't know what to do.  He moved to the settee and sat down amongst the piles of cushions his grandma always kept plumped up.  He looked again at his grandpa who was still rocking, back and forth, back and forth. 

Gareth spoke to his grandpa.  ‘What shall I do gramps?’

‘Go and fetch your dad, there’s a good lad,’ came the reply. 

Word count: 414

1 comment:

  1. Oh, so sad, and very vivid. I could see it all. Great story!