Scroll down to the previous post to see what happened the first time I saw this challenging list of words from Lee. As far as story writing goes I was completely lost for ideas, with random sentences crashing and banging around in my mind, refusing to get along with each other. Then as I slept last night, the story put itself together, and here it is:
It was a warm autumn evening in late May when Tom stood above the dunes staring at the picturesque scene below. The sun had finally set and a million stars had begun to glitter in the midnight blue canopy overhead. A cooling breeze from the ocean seemed playful as it brushed across his face and was gone. Tom stood still and let the spark of recognition grow as he began to remember. The jetty stretching out into the ocean was the same as the one in the dreams he'd had as a small child. Those forgotten dreams had resurfaced recently, with no clue as to why. Then, just last week, the tiny earthquake, merely a tremor, had shook the walls of Tom's shack at the edge of his foster parent's home. The divisive bickering of Vanessa and Robert had grown to almost argumentative proportions and Tom had left the main house in a fit of temper, making the announcement as he slammed the door, that he would be living in the shack from now on. The tremor had lasted only a second or two, but was enough to dislodge the nail holding a picture on the wall, sending the antique frame crashing to the floor. As Tom picked up the mess, a photo, lodged between the enigmatic Mona Lisa and the backboard, fell to the floor. It was a late evening photo of the jetty Tom now stood looking down upon. An address was printed on the back, in a handwriting unknown to Tom, yet somehow familiar. This photo was about to dictate the direction of the rest of his life. The next morning, Tom had packed a few things into his car, told his parents he was taking a holiday away from the constant bickering, he'd be back in a week or so, and maybe they'd have sorted out whatever had started the arguments. He'd bought maps at a service station, along with petrol for his car and set out to find the address on the photo. He stood now, watching the fluid black silk of the ocean wash against the supporting pylons as memories began to surface. Running along the sand with a puppy, a man calling with a laugh in his voice, "I'm coming to get you", squeals of delight as Tom ran faster on four year old legs. Building sand castles, watching as the ocean crept in to knock them down, eating ice cream cones in the darkening dusk as a woman took photos. Another spark of recognition as he remembered her voice. His mother, he was sure of it. His real mother, lost to him after sounds of a scuffle, then the terror of being bundled up in a blanket and carried away from his bed. These memories had faded throughout the following years as Tom had been passed though home after home after home before finally arriving at Robert and Vanessa's small farm, where Tom had finally began to settle down. The area Tom now stood in was not familiar, only the sand and the jetty were firm in his mind. He decided on a strategy. A week here at the beach, then home to Vanessa and Robert, with a long list of questions about his minority years. Where had he come from? Where were the documents with any of the details that must be on them? How had this photo come to be stuck behind the print of an enigmatic Mona Lisa in an antique frame?