It’s time for The Unicorn Challenge! Jenne has provided the photo below and asks that we respond with a story not to exceed 250 words. Here is my 250-word response.
Russell was tired of my excuses, my insecurities, my hang-ups and what he called âThat Sicilian thing thatâs 2000 years oldâ, which would have had more gravitas if I didnât know it came straight from “Godfather 2″. He was breaking up with me and I was laughing in his face.
He was right, of course. I was a lousy girlfriend and I certainly wouldnât make him a good wife. I didnât like sex with him; some of the things he tried to do went on forever and brought me no satisfaction. I was disgusted by what he wanted me to do.
Russell stormed out. Good riddance. Thatâs when I decided to follow my dream and move to Sicily. Travel arrangements went smoothly and, having spoken previously with the people where Iâd be staying, I knew getting accommodations would not be a problem.
My plans came together quickly. I packed a carry-on; more than that I wouldnât need. In the morning I called for a taxi. Four hours later I was flying across the Atlantic on my way to the town of Erice. The place where I was staying was ancient, located on the top of Mount Erice, far from the useless worries of life. No cares, no distractions.
The bus dropped me off at Sorelle Povere*. My knock on the door was answered by a smiling older woman.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has offered up another challenge for us – to write a Six Sentence Story using the word ‘craft’; this is my story in six sentences.
Itâs quite a view and a little odd that I daydream about living there; I have no idea where âthereâ is as I only saw a poster one day as I rode by on a crowded bus on my way to work but ever since then Iâve been obsessed with getting out of this hectic, dreary city and moving to that lovely building by the brilliant harbor as I imagine the sun glistening off the ocean every morning and the stars performing a water ballet of harbor lights at night.
I can hear the street vendors calling out to tourists passing by to taste this or buy that âŠ. children playing tag, their carefree laughter so delightful âŠ. old women selling glimmering conch and abalone shells by the dock and people stopping by their little tables for small sandy pouches tied with string the color of lapis lazuli nights âŠ. the baristas at the outdoor cafes brewing fresh coffee from their burlap bags of roasted arabica beans and the baker across the way bringing out sweet fruit tarts and golden pistachio and walnut pies dripping with honey.
Thereâs a small hazy smoke shop nestled between two larger buildings and men stop by for hand-rolled unfiltered cigarettes and skinny cigars; young, beautiful women and men eye each other across the tables in the antique bookstore, perhaps searching for romance as well as an aged yellowed copy of sonnets and poems.
The orange fishing boat has just returned and her haul was a good one; the little craft is heavy with various fish and the crew expertly fillet the catch while mothers with babies strapped to their backs patiently wait for the fish to be wrapped in brown paper and handed to them for tonightâs dinner.
Somewhere in the distance a church bell chimes and dogs bark at the passing ships; the intoxicating salty aroma of the sea rises up to my room and I fling open the windows to welcome another glorious new day, taking a deep breath as the warmth of the sun caresses my face.
The raspy, tired voice of the overworked bus driver yells out âFulton Streetâ and snaps me back to reality, my exquisite daydream temporarily shattered as I exit the bus and head for work reminding myself that someday I will find my way to that cream colored building with the terra cotta roof on the glistening harbor; itâs quite a view, isnât it?
The Elephant's Trunk 