This week’s Trifecta writing challenge is on the word Anticipation, with its 3rd definition being
3.a. “visualization of a future event or state” or
3.b. “an object or form that anticipates a later type.”
For this challenge, I’m entering an abridged excerpt from a novel I’m visualizing, Rolling River, currently in its infancy and whose completion brings me great anticipation. This challenge requires the use of the word (anticipation) within the submission by its selected definition — and the entry must be between 33 and 333 words. (My word count is 333 – one of my favorite numbers.) 🙂
I think you’ll find Cody, our narrator, struggling with both memories full of wonderful moments of anticipation, as well as the dread of what he must anticipate for the remaining segments of his life ahead.
My feet continued moving forward, out of habit I guess, since my brain couldn’t have been instructing my body to go in that direction. It was still in denial. How could it fathom that I’d never see her again? She was so much a part of me, wholly ingrained inside of me. Without her, what was life anyway?
There was an ill-formed line, zig-zagging towards her; so I got in it, much like we used to line up in the commons room together, waiting our turns to snag some grub after a tiresome day or two of guiding on the river. Only my mouth didn’t water in anticipation this time. Instead, it was dry and the taste was acrid. I had to step back a couple of times to delay the inevitable. It seemed to me to be the right strategy. After all, I didn’t want anyone coming up behind me and rushing me away. This would be our last time together – my final chance to spend a fleeting moment with her, looking at the shell of beauty she’d left behind.
Finally, the crowd meandered away, and I understood my moment was now or never. I tentatively approached, placing both of my hands on the sides of where she was laid. Her hair wasn’t quite right; it should’ve been braided. The color had faded from her cheeks. I understood I wasn’t going to get to see the bright shimmer that always sparked her eyes like flames dancing in a campfire whenever she gazed upon me. But it was still her – my Jilli – the most awesome girl I’d ever loved or even known. I reached down and covered her crossed hands with my own. They weren’t warm, but that didn’t bother me. I reminded myself of how cold they’d been whenever she climbed out of that river or anytime she’d let me take her hand on a crisp early summer night. Or whenever the air conditioner was running in our hotel room.
© jody love
At the Casket
And I’d also love to be able to anticipate some of your reader feedback on this…
🙂 In grateful anticipation, -jody