Here is another of my Instagram picture prompts for you to get creative with. I invite you to have a go at writing a sentence/paragraph/short story to accompany the picture. Remember to link your post back to me, so I can read your creations and spotlight them in the next picture prompt post.
You can find me on Instagram by following this link.
Picture Prompt:
“Is that it? Is that all we fucking get?” Caine shouts into the air. Tears leave streaks through his muddy cheeks as he pummels the wall. “We have been trapped inside that maze for seventeen months, and that pathetic exit is all we get?”
“What were you expecting?” I ask. The sense of claustrophobia that I have lived with for nearly a year and a half melts away from me and I starfish in the grass.
“A fucking fan fair! I don’t know…I just thought it was all for something bigger, something greater. Freddie died in there, and for what? Nothing!”
He’s bloodying his knuckles up, much like he did when Freddie died. If he’s not careful he’ll get another infection. Throwing my arms around him, I drag him away from the wall. “Stop, Caine! We’re out. It’s okay, we’ve made it.” He sags against me and weeps.
“No, you haven’t,” says a voice behind us. Both of us spin around, drawing our knives. A tall, skinny man wearing only a loin cloth and holey running shoes approaches. He is accompanied by at least ten others, all in a similar state of dress; dirty, bedraggled, and famished. I thought we were filthy, but these guys look positively feral. “That was just part one.” He hands me a pair of muddy binoculars. “Just look.”
Caine snatches them from my hands and scours the horizon. He staggers backward, grasping at me to ground him. “There are more walls. No! No! Seventeen months! We’ve been in there seventeen months!”
The man hangs the binoculars around his neck. “We’ve been here ten years. No one has made it through part two.”
Content belongs to K.J.Chapman
Writerly Bookish Stuff 
It had been such a long time since she’d last been here, and yet, not time at all. Madge let her icy cold fingers drift along the rough, worn rocks of the castle that once stood taller than the trees that now sheltered it. Ivy crept along, taking back what man had tried to mold. What her father had tried to make.
Gently, so as not to disturb the flowers bobbing about where wooden floors once laid, Madge left the semi circle stone wall that had only ten seconds ago, been her room.
Time was a strange thing, and she hated when she jumped. It always left her feeling too old and too young, and never quite herself. Once past the safety of the walls she shielded her eyes to look about at what was to become of her father’s land.
Nothing but bushes, grass, and mud. If her father had been accurate, it looked much as it had done before he laid waste to it. Her bare feet sunk in the thick, cold mud, and she shivered, jumping onto a patch of thick grass to her left.
The scent of rain blew on the wind and Madge took a deep breath, then coughed. The air was strange tasting, with a sour note to it that left an itch in her nose. Tentatively she took another sniff. It smelled of smoke and burning things and…
“Oi!”
Madge froze at the authoritative voice. An thin elderly man came into view, dressed in a strange blue uniform.
“What d’you think your….” His voice trailed off, is eyes widened, and in them, Madge saw recognition. But he was wholly unfamiliar to her
“Madge?”
“….How do you know my name?”
The elderly gentleman smiled, his wrinkled, knobby hands reaching out to her. Hastily she stepped back, glancing to the semi circle of her room. She didn’t have much time. She could feel her body getting old and young again.
“You don’t remember me?”
“How could I, I’ve only just come.”
“Oh. Right.” He patted around his body, sticking his hands into a strange slit in the bottom half of his uniform. A flash of white appeared in his hand, and Madge recognized it as that precious commodity, paper. He held it out to her, and she snatched it, backing away in case he made to run for her.
It was a folded, soft from use, and she was careful to open it. What the paper revealed however….with wide eyes she looked up at the old man, whose dark eyes were misted in tears.
“Why, you’re…”
“I’m your grandson. The man you’d met…I’m afraid he died quite a while ago. But his son came, and I’ve come, every year on this day, just like you asked of him. He wanted to tell you–”
But it was too late. The world blurred and she found herself in her room again, her feet still muddy on wooden floors as tears streamed down her face.
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Brilliant! 😀 Thank you for taking part!
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:O Love it! It reminds me of Maze Runner, even though I haven’t read that yet, so that’s weird.
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Haha. I had Bowie’s song from Labyrinth in my head after visiting Goonhilly Downs 😀
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