jml297

Hoard

It was a mad jumble of limbs. Feet, arms, legs all flailing about as the scrum of kids whooped and hollered along the corridor. The few adults present pressed themselves against the walls, instinctively moving out of the way of the tumbling, tumultuous river of kids on their way out the door.

Hollow

It was on one of his morning walks that it hit him. Winter brought deep mist and fog, but he always walked early, enjoying the altered sense of place as trees and shrubs emerged in the growing light. One of the ancient gum trees along the track, one that he instinctively touched as he passed, had a hollow. The entrance was smoothed by time, and he realised that this wasn’t emptiness, but a place of refuge.

Hammer

My Dad loved to give us kids nicknames. They were changeable, and sometimes obscure. It seemed to delight him to give us a moniker that was more of a riddle, and it became a challenge to work out the significance of the latest one. When he started calling me ‘Hammer’, with that lopsided grin of his, my mind went to the shed with its neat racks of tools. Had he known that I’d been sneaking in and using them? Surely, that was too obvious. Maybe it was a reference to my obsession with Thor comics.

Hound

‘You promised!’
Maya sighed. ‘I know I did, but we’ve only just moved in. There are other things that need to be fixed up first.’
‘But Mum, you said that I could pick my puppy when we got here. And we’re here.’
‘I know, buddy, but you’ll have to wait a little longer.’
‘But you said -‘
‘I know what I said. Please don’t hound me on this. Be patient, for just a little longer.’
‘But Mum!’

These were written at my local writing group. This is a fun way to warm up before we start to work on longer prompts.

Photo: Trade tools at the Newington Armory site, Sydney