![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
creativewriter.
Take the last song you heard and use the title as a prompt. Write for fifteen minutes.
Song: "Tobacco Island" by Flogging Molly
431 words
Why it was called Tobacco Island, no one seemed to know. Probably it was named by a hopeful pioneer a few hundred years ago who had come to the new world seeking profit. Tobacco, stuff of dreams. But his hopes would have been dashed. No tobacco, or any other crop had been successfully grown on the island as far back as anyone seened to remember. All that grew here were coconuts. Many many coconuts to delight the tourists.
She kicked the smooth shell of a coconut out of her way now as she trudged along the sand towards the shoreline. The coconut had been in the sand for quite some time. The waves had pounded it smooth until it resembled polished wood. Someone else might have appreciated the art of the sea. Someone who hadn't grown up on coconut meat served with coconut milk out of bowls fashioned from coconut shells. If she never saw another coconut as long as as she lived, she'd be perfectly happy. These days when she combed the beach she'd be happy to see anything else. Even tobacco.
Reaching the water's edge, she climbed up onto the nearest rock, avoiding the slippery patches of slick green seaweed with her bare feet. Straightening up, she shaded her eyes from the sun and looked out to sea, scanning for the fishing boat that was due back any moment now.
There, in the distance. First she saw the cloud of seagulls that always surrounded the boat when the day's catch was good. As the fishermen scaled, boned and filleted the their fish, making use of the slow journey weaving through the shallow sand bars and climbing heads of coral to reach the dock, they tossed the scrap to the scavengers who flew overhead.
She slid down off the rock and kicked another coconut out of the way as she squilched her way along the wet sand toward the village dock. Frothy tips of waves teased her toes and drew back, leaving her feet covered with glistening sand.
Gathering a handful of scattered palm fronds, she waved them at the boat as she and it drew near the old wooden dock. The sun had bleached the boards almost white and the wind and waves had worn them smooth as bone. She climbed up the ramshackle ladder of planks on the side of the dock that was covered when the tide was in.
Ignoring the man selling coconuts where the dock crossed the dune to the sandy street, she headed the other direction toward where the boat would make its berth.
creativewriter. Take the last song you heard and use the title as a prompt. Write for fifteen minutes.
Song: "Tobacco Island" by Flogging Molly
431 words
Why it was called Tobacco Island, no one seemed to know. Probably it was named by a hopeful pioneer a few hundred years ago who had come to the new world seeking profit. Tobacco, stuff of dreams. But his hopes would have been dashed. No tobacco, or any other crop had been successfully grown on the island as far back as anyone seened to remember. All that grew here were coconuts. Many many coconuts to delight the tourists.
She kicked the smooth shell of a coconut out of her way now as she trudged along the sand towards the shoreline. The coconut had been in the sand for quite some time. The waves had pounded it smooth until it resembled polished wood. Someone else might have appreciated the art of the sea. Someone who hadn't grown up on coconut meat served with coconut milk out of bowls fashioned from coconut shells. If she never saw another coconut as long as as she lived, she'd be perfectly happy. These days when she combed the beach she'd be happy to see anything else. Even tobacco.
Reaching the water's edge, she climbed up onto the nearest rock, avoiding the slippery patches of slick green seaweed with her bare feet. Straightening up, she shaded her eyes from the sun and looked out to sea, scanning for the fishing boat that was due back any moment now.
There, in the distance. First she saw the cloud of seagulls that always surrounded the boat when the day's catch was good. As the fishermen scaled, boned and filleted the their fish, making use of the slow journey weaving through the shallow sand bars and climbing heads of coral to reach the dock, they tossed the scrap to the scavengers who flew overhead.
She slid down off the rock and kicked another coconut out of the way as she squilched her way along the wet sand toward the village dock. Frothy tips of waves teased her toes and drew back, leaving her feet covered with glistening sand.
Gathering a handful of scattered palm fronds, she waved them at the boat as she and it drew near the old wooden dock. The sun had bleached the boards almost white and the wind and waves had worn them smooth as bone. She climbed up the ramshackle ladder of planks on the side of the dock that was covered when the tide was in.
Ignoring the man selling coconuts where the dock crossed the dune to the sandy street, she headed the other direction toward where the boat would make its berth.
Tags: