Picture Writing Prompt Exercise #1

Diana Tracy, a very good friend of mine, decided to help me get my writing mojo back. She thought writing to photo prompts would be a great place to start, so a week ago, she sent me this picture. My options were to write a beginning or end, a sentence over 35 words long (is that even possible), or write a turning point (or defining point) in a story.

Photo writing prompts are NOT as easy as it sounds. This was a bit of a struggle for me. There are so many different directions to go and that's where I get stuck. Actually, that's where I tend to get stuck in ALL my writing. I need to pick an idea and trust myself.

So that's what I did here. I just picked and idea and ran with it. I hope you enjoy it

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An Ending (Free writing. Non-edited)
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I had warned her.

Several times, in fact, but did she listen? No. Never. The stubborn woman.

"There was no such thing as pure magic," I'd told her. "Every spell, every book, every concocted antidote, and hopeful wish--all contaminated over the space of time by pompous imbeciles who simply can't leave well enough alone."

"Are you calling me an imbecile?" She'd held her hand over the spell book that had been handed down from one generation to the next, with all it's scribbled notes in the margins--pages that could hardly be read after decades of weathering and time. "Is that what you think of me?"

I had, but how was I to say those words aloud. I had loved her then, much like a father, but I was also afraid of her. I'd taken too much time to respond, and in so doing, she'd made her conclusion.

She thumbed the pages of the book. "You will see, Martin. You will see."

I didn't want to see.

In the course of my seventy-eight years, I'd witnessed enough spells go astray. And those that didn't, well, the results were much the same... with time and hindsight. That was why most people chose to live by fate, by consequence, and truth, letting magic fall by the wayside. Magic was too tricky, too unreliable.

And as much as I hated to see my life-longs work discarded and forgotten, I had also known it was for the best. No young apprentice had ever been successful. Not even after years of training and prepping.

Not even her. Though I had had hopes.

Words of unknown origin had tumbled from her lips and her hands trembled. The pages had  fluttered with nonexistent wind.

I had tried to stop her. I had tried casting a ceasing spell at her, but she had studied the book well, and my words dissipated as they left my mouth and had no effect. I had been an old man then, a wizard, yes, but still an old man, and I could do nothing.

Oh, darling. You do not know what you ask of the unknown realms.

As her legs changed shape, the gap closing and molding into a thick trunk made of hard knotty wood; and her fingers and toes elongating, some reaching heavenward and others disappearing into the ground towards hell, her eyes flew open and she looked to me.

I could only shake my head. 

She had opened her mouth, but her words had been silenced as branches sprouted forth from the opening, twisting and turning, and bending in all directions. Shoots had sprung from the crown of her head.

Her fine skin had become rough and hard, her red hair becoming the color of moss, and then she was gone. There, but gone in the sense I had once known her and would ever know her again.

She wanted to live forever--a mighty request that may others before her had desired--and in some respects she achieved, but perhaps not as she had hoped.

Over the years I had come to appreciate the tree's elegance. I'd touch the bark, talk to her as if she could hear me.

From that day, I'd vowed never to use or teach magic again.

And because of that vow, I did nothing but stand there as they pulled out their axes and blades and began to cut her down.

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Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you thought. I plan to do more of these exercises in hopes to rejuvenate my love for writing and jump start my creativity again. You support is much appreciated.