Thanks to inspiration from OTA I’m joining The Great Discontent #The100DayProject, a celebration of process that encourages everyone to participate in 100 days of making, empowered by the accountability of doing a project alongside others in a very public way. Pictures of these projects are posted daily on Instagram.
I asked myself, at the end of 100 days, what would I like to have amassed? The answer, for me was 100 first drafts. So, I will write and post a 500 word story a day with the hashtag #100DaysOfHorribleStories. Why horrible? Because what can go wrong if I aim for horrible and fail?
KILTS, CREPES, & IRREGULAR SHAPES
The storm came in with the rising tide, just as the sun slipped below the cliffs to the west of Castle Tioram, it’s once fine tower, creating an jagged outline along the horizon. A lone figure in traditional Scottish garb struggled up the rocky incline toward the main entrance on the Northeast curtain wall. Once the tide was in, it would be several hours before the path would be accessible again.
Ewan McDonald was used to the irregular shapes and shadows caused by the rapidly waning sunlight. He adjusted his heavy backpack as he made his way through the thick growth of bracken and heather. The brambles, slashed at his bare legs like tiny swords, making him curse his decision to wear his kilt rather than change into it once he reached the final destination. The oncoming rain and winds would no doubt topple another brick or two from the crumbling facade, so he picked up his pace, hoping to reach the relative safety of the small outbuilding with the tarred roof.
Meanwhile, deep within the hillside, under the ruined castle, Aileen, prepared the evening meal for the crew, unaware of the approaching storm, and the danger it’s ill winds blew in.
“Gwar!” Bellowed Lachan, the lead archeologist stationed at the Tioram dig. “Lassie, ye canna be makin’ tha piss-poor excuse fer a pancake again!”
“Don’t be pitching a fit Lachan! We’re down to fumes on the oxygen generator, and who knows when Ewan will make it back up here. You use up more than your fair share of air as it is!” Teased Aileen. “And furthermore, I make what I can from the supplies Ewan brings. I can’t just be popping up to the surface to gather supplies then can I? You and I both know Ewan has the only key to the hatch!” She added. “I’m just as tired of crepes as you are, but we’re out of bread, and down to just root vegetables. What would you have me make – black pudding and kippers?! Just whip it up out of thin air, like this damned treasure you’re supposed to be so close to findin?”
Back on the wild hillside, another figure loomed large near the castle wall, in the gathering gloom, his head and shoulder silhouette was disguised against the uneven bricks, so that in Ewan’s haste to find shelter, he only saw the glint of the stranger’s knife blade, seconds before it tore into his chest. He watched, unable to move, the life slowly draining from him, as the dark stranger disappeared into the distance with the backpack containing the oxygen generators, and the only key to open the locked portal, where the unsuspecting crew were digging for the centuries old treasure.