Tag Archives: they are despoilers


30 Jan

800 years of life. What would you remember?

Friday Fictioneers is a large electric kool-aid acid trip bus full of bozos, babes, beach bums and bards, all driven by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on a joyride through different worlds created from a single photo prompt (this week’s is from Claire Fuller. She is both the photographer and the sculptor) using a loose maximum of 100 words.

To quote Rich Voza, “You should try this.”


Centuries of solitude ended with the cold bite of an axe blade. Felled and shaped and planed, I became the keel of a doomed whaling vessel named Essex. Hunters became the hunted and all perished. I floated in the sea’s embrace, washed ashore at a settlement called Yerba Buena and became an altar until a great earthquake tore the church asunder.

What remains of me rests in an artist’s studio.

Vibrations of chisel on stone remind me of woodpeckers, the hammer blows of the pounding sea, and the mutter of the artist, the prayers of the penitent.

Still, I remember.



essex nightmare