Happy 4th of July, everyone. I had a busy day around the house yesterday, and then we went to have dinner with friends, which lasted late into the night. As a result, I only posted one story to Flash! Friday. I started another, but didn't get a chance to finish.
This week, Rebekah served up a new wrinkle. In her own words:
Now we’re ratcheting that up a bit by finding inspiration in the famous novels of yesterday. Here’s the deal:
* Novel Prompt: We will provide the name of a famous novel along with a summary of its story elements. If you aren’t familiar with the novel, no worries — our summary’s all you need.
* New word count: ROTATING. Each week will require a different min/max wordcount.
* Your challenge: YOU CHOOSE which two story elements to build your story on, and let us know which two you chose.
This week’s novel: The Count of MonteCristo, by Alexandre Dumas.
* Plot: A clever, now fabulously wealthy man seeks revenge on those who once wrongfully imprisoned him.
* Conflict: man vs man
* Character: escaped convict
* Theme(s): revenge AND/OR justice
* Setting: Napoleonic France
You also could incorporate this photo, though I did not.
I used the CONFLICT and THEME to write "Air Pressure."
The headache seemed intent on dividing her skull. The baby would not stop crying. And the change in pressure as they reached cruising altitude was not helping matters.
"Sssh, little one," she whispered. "Everything will be fine soon enough."
Ella's psyche craved quiet. But her body screamed out for sleep. The blur of the past six months – an indoctrination into a new way of life, really – had begun to take its toll.
Others have done this. I can, too, she assured herself.
And yet now, confined inside the speeding aluminum carcass, she found that a simple nuance of motherhood – quieting a colicky baby – had become a Sisyphean labor. Before she left, they had coached her. Told her what she could expect. But no words could adequately prepare Ella for this divine endeavor.
They were right about one thing, though.
The infidels never check baby bottles at security.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" the flight attendant offered.
"No. She'll be fine," Ella said.
She just misses her mother. But in a minute, it won't matter, Ella thought as she stuffed a rag into the little bottle festooned with pink horses – and filled with petrol – and struck her lighter.
What are you plans for the holiday? Flying, perhaps?