#1MinFiction: The Fence

Cyranny’s Cove holds a writing challenge called the 1 minute fiction challenge. The idea is to come up with a short story based on a photo she posted and write it in a minute. Below is my take on the photo though admittedly I took longer than a minute to write it but less than a minute to come up with the story. Enjoy.

The Fence

Alison looked at the hole in the wooden fence and wondered how it got there. It wasn’t there yesterday, yet the hole looked worn, weathered and well used.

She approached the opening cautiously, not quite sure what to expect. The fence separated her from the neighbor she never saw before. She was living here for over fifty years now and she lost track of how many neighbors had come and gone. Some she remembered and loved, others she was happy when they left and others she just never took the time to get to know.

Standing back from the hole she peered in to see that her new neighbor installed a pond in the yard. She couldn’t recall that being there before. She moved in closer to admire the landscaping and plants obviously placed with care.

She felt guilty peering into the strangers yard but its beauty called to her. She stood with one eye pressed up against the hole admiring her neighbors property. The flowers, the plants and the water feature. If she were a lot younger she would love to have a garden like that. It was literally her dream garden. But she was in her twilight years and she was too old to care for something so extravagant.

“Alison?” the voice called to her from behind, startling her. She spun around quickly, not recognizing the voice. She stared blankly at the stranger standing behind her and wondered what she was doing in her yard. How did she get in? Who was she?

“Alison?” The woman repeated, “Are you okay? What … what are you doing in my yard peering through the hole? What are you looking at in your garden?”

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Archon's Den says:

    Not something to look forward to. At 76, my minds still seems solid – although I temporarily lose the occasional word. My son tells me that it’s okay if I can’t remember where I left the car keys. I’m not in trouble till I can’t remember what they’re for. Loops:

    Liked by 1 person

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