Friday rolls around again, and with it Friday Fictioneers. Writers around the world receive a prompt pic from Rochelle:
And the 100 words
flow! trickle! c ome eventually! are persuaded slowly and painfully onto the page! Here are mine…
Every day, every daylight hour, she chips at the rocks with a crude metal tool. When a boulder is the required size, she moves it into place and begins work on the next. The fragments are placed in lines on the sheer, dry groundrock, dividing it into sections like a mosaic.
From her lowly position, no overall design is discernable. But from the air, a perspective she has never seen, the lines become brushstrokes on the valley’s canvas and a transcendent picture is revealed.
Why does she labour? Who is this artwork for? She never speaks. We will never know.