It’s time for Weekend Writing Warriors
Every Sunday, a clutch of writers post upon their blogs, 8-sentence snippets from their Writing Works in Progress.
There is much reading, commenting, sharing and getting to know one another. Also great writing. Click on the red square with the white feather and sword to see the list of blogs and perhaps add your blog’s name and join us in the fun. If you are, like me, a person who needs deadlines and feedback, this really helps.
Elle opened the box and looked at the light brown, oily lock of hair folded in a black piece of cloth. She picked it out from more than a dozen similar locks in cloth and fingered it. Sitting on a milking stool that she had lugged up to this hidden part of the castle ruins a few years ago, she tried to remember if there had been a pitchfork in the barn that first time.
Makes sense that there would have been one somewhere. Why hadn’t she used it? She took a deep breath, patted her own hand as if it belonged to someone else, and reassured herself that she had been too little then to use a pitchfork and couldn’t have prevented what happened.
She sometimes wondered what became of Lieutenant Jean Louis, who had caught her in the barn when she was eight and the family had gone to town, leaving her at home because she was sneezing and coughing.
She remembered few details except a crushing weight, not being able to breathe, pain, like a tearing, him giving her that hair for a “trophy,” and that she was punished after it happened for forgetting to feed the chickens.