Writing Prompt 50: Twilight
Yesterday, the sun shone in a sky awash with blue and everyone talked about what an unexpectedly beautiful day it had turned out to be - that soon it'll be cold enough for snow.
Today, I've woken up not to snow but to relentless rain. I walk the dog, taking a longer route than usual; up the trail, down the trail and then back home by taking a route along the suburban roads where we live. I'm a bit nosey and like to look at the houses along the way, avoiding cars backing out of driveways and nodding a greeting at other people walking their dogs silently in the rain. Quiet streets with nothing going on. Quiet streets in the rain.
For this week's writing prompt, let’s explore places. Places where you’ve lived, or your childhood home or where your best friend lived when you were 17 years old. Maybe the photograph above takes you to a different place that's unfamiliar and you find a story there. Unleash your imagination! Let’s go.
Until next time.
Low Sun
The sun dropped behind the row of houses, pulling the daylight with it.
A dense cloud hung low, adding weight and darkness to the street. Ada tucked her scarf into her coat and hurried along the pavement. She shivered in her thin layers of clothing as an unexpected chill pierced the air. Ahead of her, the road stretched on, quiet and empty.
Where was everyone?
She glanced about as she walked, her heels clicking on the pavement, echoing loudly in the quiet. She looked up at the trees. At this time, as the sun went down, she expected to hear the sound of birds roosting.
Ada picked up speed, pulling her hands out of her pockets and swinging her arms.
A movement in a bush nearby pricked her ears. The back of her neck tingled. She scratched at her palms. A cat darted out in front of her, almost running over her feet. She stumbled in fright, reaching for the ground to break her fall, but falling on her hands anyway. Her right knee banged against the concrete, ripping a hole in her tights and scraping away the first few layers of skin. She sat on the ground, brushing the gravel from her knee before pushing herself up to stand. She carefully rubbed her red, bruised hands together.
A light glowed in the window of the house opposite, in the window of Number 25. A hand pressed against the glass making a print in the condensation. Ada frowned. Miriam said they were away for a few days.
Ada felt for Miriam's front door key in her pocket as she looked up and down the road before crossing. She paused on the pavement by the front gate.
Who was in the house?
She pushed the key between her fingers and tightened her hand into a fist. Walking slowly up to the door, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Story first posted December 2019 // Photo:Tanya Clarke 2016
