I’m early on Friday Fictioneers for a change, partly because I’m having so much trouble with the 100 Word Challenge for Grownups this time. Anyhow, Madison Woods has given us a photo prompt that’s not completely clear, but I found it evocative. (Actually, my story is well over the 100 word Fictioneers limit. But since I’ve already taken away a quarter of what the narrator originally had to say, it seems cruel to cut out any more.)
I remember. I used to see everything so clear as far as the horizon, and I knew what was past the horizon, too. Then all the things out of sight just faded and fuzzed up and one day I knew they wouldn’t be there if I went looking for them.
But everything from here all the way to that third hilltop where the trees are was still sharp and bright and real. At first just a patch here and a patch there got lost, kind of like holes worn through an old dishtowel. Then the towel frayed worse and faded, and now I can barely make out the far line of trees.
The trees close up are still solid, though. I bet I could lean on them and they’d take my weight. I wonder how long that will last.