As part of a challenge with Auri, we’ve both sent each other three photos and are going to write three pieces of creative writing based off each photo! All of my stories are connected, and here is my first one, based off of the following photo:
It fell onto his face with a resounding thud, knocking him back into the dirt.
Connor wiped the cold mud off his chin, staring up at the trees.
The perpetrators filthy pair was still hoisted up above, nestled in the trees. Waving to and fro, as a mother rocks her baby to sleep.
It whistled to him with a surprising stillness.
Bet’cha can’t reach me. Bet’cha can’t reach me.
It reminded him of the way Austen would tease him, in their back-garden every summer, as he clambered his way clumsily up the coarse branches into his makeshift treehouse.
I want to come up too, Austen! Help me up, help me up!
But Austen would merely smile, pick a bruised clementine off the nearest branch, then slowly peel off its skin and bite down on what Connor could only assume was the juiciest, most delectable fruit in existence.
Connor would grow indeterminably angry, kicking the tree trunk and crying exclamations about what a cruel big brother he was, what a very cruel person he was to treat his sibling this way. His fists scrambled at the grass, tearing it apart and throwing it up into the air, only for it to slowly trail back down into his mouth.
I’m your only brother, you should be nicer to me! He bawled, crumpled down into the dirt, ripping the fallen leaves into bite-size pieces.
He shouldn’t have said that. He really should not have said that.
The fragmented leaves ascended into the air with a resounding flourish, as Austen jumped down to the ground, grabbing Connor by the scruff of his neck.
Don’t you talk like that, he roared into Connor’s ear, don’t you talk like he’s gone and never coming back!
A violent push shoved Connor to the ground, the sound of heavy footfalls growing quieter and quieter. His last brother, gone.
The rain hung listlessly in the sky.
Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Sherratt