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Can you tell a great story, one that's so good, it's hard to tell if it's fact or fiction?
Emily King and Melodie Wright are hosting this creative bloghop where we share a summer memory as well as one that's pure fiction. The stories do not have to happen this summer. Everyone else's job? To spot the fact from fiction. The writer who fools the most commentors wins the prize.
Here's the scoop:
Monday, Sept. 3: Post one summer story, true or false, it doesn't matter but it should be under 500 words.
Tuesday: Sept. 4: Hop to other participating blogs to check out your competition.
Wedesday, Sept. 5: Post your other summer story. If Monday's was your truth, have Wed. be your fiction story. Or vice versa. (Again, under 500 words.)
Thursday, Sept. 6: Hop to other participating blogs. Decide which one is true and which is false and put your vote in the comments of each entry.
Friday, Sept. 7: Your reveal. Tell us which story is true and which is false.
Here's my first story:
Water ripples over barnacle covered rocks, lapping at the
critters clinging to their stationary home. A tiny hand picks up the white
speckled stone, inspecting the pokey crust before tossing it into the waves. A
much larger rock flies high into the air, splashing down only feet from where
they stand. Giggles follow the spray and a boy’s voice calls out, “Mine went
farther than yours!”
He chuckles and musses the summer-streaked hair on his son’s
head. “Ready to check the traps?”
A small gas engine putters, pushing the aluminum boat
through the salt water toward the red buoy pointing to the blue sky above,
promising loads of orange crab below. With every Knott, the boy peers over the edge
of their vessel, watching the cloudless sky reflect across the glassy sea
speeding beneath them.
“Sit back, honey,” he reminds his son before easing up on
They glide into an arch around the painted Styrofoam marker.
The boy hops up and over the seat to get a closer look. “Did we get any,
“Let’s bring it up to see, honey.” He grips the rope and
pulls hand over hand until the metal cage scrapes the bottom of the craft.
The boy jumps up and down clapping his hands, excitement
crinkling his cherubic face in anticipation for their haul.
He catches the action out the corner of his eye a second
before he sends out another warning. “Sit down, son. You’re in a boat.” A wave
slaps the side of the boat and his heart sinks. The rope slips from the man’s
hands, skimming noisily along the metal as the weight of the crab trap pulls it
to the bottom. Against his own advice, he
jolts up and reaches for the boy. But he’s too late.
Blonde hair, blue shorts, and sandaled feet flail over the
edge and slip into the water.
Panic explodes in his chest propelling him into the deep
blue-gray. Cold pricks his skin, salt burns his eyes, and he thrashes
gracelessly one direction, then another, searching the water for his child.
Nothing. The man dives further, spinning all directions,
only to find an empty sea surrounding him. His lungs burn, begging him to
return to the surface, but his heart pleads to search more. He looks up to the
brightness above, gauging how much longer he can push his body, and spots a
small, dark figure moving between him and the sun.
He cuts through the water pops up next to his son bobbing a
foot from the craft, a wide smile spread between his cherubic cheeks, clapping
again in excitement. “Did we catch any crab, Daddy?”
The man hooks his hand beneath the orange and blue life vest
and heaves his son back into the boat. Once aboard himself, he pulls his nine-year-old
baby into his arms and his world ebbs regular once more.