Welcome to another wonderful week! If you read that aloud, curiously (or not), you might find that you insert a letter w even before you say another. I think that’s some phonological process—perhaps elision and combination—rather than the power of visual suggestion impinging on auditory response.
But anyway, it’s October. One of my favorite times of the entire year in this (supposedly) temperate climate’d place.
Lately it hit me that, even though I’ve submitted to plenty of hidden markets (so to speak), I haven’t shared any original fiction with y’all in quite awhile. *But I do hope to bring you an interview with a guest author and more ethereal fiction in the next two weeks.*
Here’s a short piece directly inspired by last week’s Friday Fictioneers. If you have never participated in or even heard of Friday Fictioneers, you are tasked with crafting a true, complete story (fiction or nonfiction; I think I’ve seen the occasional prose poem, too) in 100 words or less that is inspired by the photographic prompt.
Because I think I technically missed the previous FF, I will post my take-off story with a different photo that hews a little more closely to my theme, but be sure to visit Rochelle at FF as often as you can.
This enthralling still-life photo was created by Ahborson and placed on MorgueFile for download. I urge you to support this self-described “Chaotic Neutral Hippy fairy goth pirate thinger with a pronounced artistic complex” and the other artists there, and if you read this, Ahborson, please do let me know if I’ve misunderstood MorgueFile’s terms of use.
The Girl Who Floated
My assistant scuttles after me in the archive. She calls herself Hera, but truly she’s a standard L7 model drone. They’ve given themselves names to assimilate better.
It’s been ages since we salvaged any so-called Earth junk, maritime or otherwise, so I’m pleased to find an appropriate display cube in the Musk Museum’s Detritus collection. With any luck, one of our resident cosmic-folk artists will ask to use some of the specimens we’ve archived.
A curator can hope.
But then, on one scheduled sweep, we found the girl. Just floating out there.
Sans oxy-suit. Sans memory.
And alive, very alive.
Will the Board of Directors vote to process the artifact and put her in a containment cube? Can I comply with such a directive?
The suspense gnaws through my bowels even now.
### THE END ###
For more, you can also follow/tweet me at @1WomanWordsmith
Leigh's Wordsmithery 
Great story, and a great preamble to the story!
Intriguing. I wonder how the girl got there and how is she still alive? I hope they don’t stick her in a museum! Great story!
Terrific, with lots of possibilities and unanswered questions yet still a complete story.
Great story and most curious- which is what I like!
Thanks, Zteve. Happy weekend to you; hope it’s wonderful.
V nice!
Ooh, sinister and intriguing Leigh, it makes me wonder where we are, how we got to this point and then there are so many possibilities for the girl to upset the world as we now know it 🙂
Yeah, in fact, I almost thought of her as “Ayla in space.” 🙂 I hope she will possibly materialize into a concrete, memorable character who can carry multiple fascinating books, like her imagined namesake.
Wonderful! Leigh. 🙂 A dark story to go with the dark photo. I loved the way you have crafted the story, giving it as many possibilities that one could think of.
I see you have an interesting way with words. Refreshing.
Thank you kindly, Kevin Keely! 🙂 Your novel looks interesting as well; not having been British (or being chased by an angry husband and/or Roma people), I’m sure I and my countrywomen and -men could find a lot of compelling surprises therein. (Cool title as well. I wonder what it suggests to various readers; we’re steeped in Westerns here, or used to be, so Americans probably think of the so-called spaghetti Western). Anyway . . . Cheers, and thanks so much for stopping by!
Thanks Leigh, pleasure’s all mine.
My protags are Irish btw. 😉 juss sayin cos we haven’t always seen eye to eye with our nearest neighbours even though we do get along famously now.
Take care.
D’Oh. My apologies for the English gaffe. FWIW, my paternal ancestors hail from Ireland and Scotland. Thank you again, and take care back atcha.