Saturday Prompt

Welcome to this week’s Saturday Prompt. It’s easy. Take a look at the sentence, take a look at the picture, and see what story you can come up with. You can use one or both prompts, it’s completely up to you. If you would like to share what you’ve come up with in the comments, everyone would love to see it! Or, if you prefer to post it on your own blog, leave a link in the comments so we can come check it out! Have a happy Saturday, everyone 🙂


He  watched for the procession of the dead.


by Jim Pater via (CC)


About Katie Doyle

Katie Doyle is an avid reader, writer of NA and Adult fiction, a mom to two tornadoes that resemble an eight and six year old, and pet to a tuxedo cat named Oz and a German Shepherd/Boxer rescue named Charlie. If she's not reading, writing, or getting Oz out of a tree, she's screaming at characters on TV and trying not to curse around her kids.
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2 Responses to Saturday Prompt

  1. Sarah says:

    My brother said that if I sat here long enough and quiet enough I would see the dead. He told me not to expect them to appear as they had in life. He said that they would be more abstract, more subtle. Any movement or noise on my part would send them back to wherever it was they had come from.
    Older brothers are not always the most reliable sources of information, especially where younger sisters are involved, but I was willing to risk it anyway. I had nothing better to do. I certainly didn’t want to spend the entire day inside coloring with my baby brother. I walked through the headstones of the grave yard. They were old. Some of them were so weathered that I could no longer make out their inscriptions.
    Oak and magnolia leaves crunched under my feet. Acorns made for uneven footing. I saw a bench toward the center of the graveyard. It looked like as good of a place as any. I hoped that I wouldn’t scare away the ghosts with all the noise caused by the thick layer of leaves.
    I sat perfectly still. Only my hair was moving. I should have pulled it back before I came. It floated away from my face in the breeze. Shadows formed an intricate web across the ground. A chill crept through me. I tucked my hands inside the sleeves of my sweater.
    My body was motionless but my imagination ran free. Who were these people that had been buried so long ago? What had caused their death? Some of them had only been children. Images and stories filled my mind. They were so deep, so old, so vivid. I could feel the pain. I could see the sorrow etched in their faces. I could smell the scent of the earth where it had been dug up to form graves. A bird called out over head, bringing me back to reality, if where I had been wasn’t reality. I didn’t really know.
    I looked around me hoping to see something to prove that the stories in my head were true not just a product of my mind. A veil of mist had settled over the graves. Without even a hint of breeze it broke apart. Tendrils of it curled around the headstones briefly then dissipated until there was nothing left.
    I stood and turned slowly around taking in the scene one last time. I needed to get home. I headed out the way that I came.

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