Making up for the lack of February posts, here's a short story I concocted the other day. It's entitled "A Part of It"
After a while, maybe half an hour, we started climbing down the mountain. A part of it was covered in heavy mist. The air was wet and cold. It was already noon, but it remained grey overhead.
The poet from Argentina called out to me. “Hey, where are you going?”
I realised I was lost.
The trail had been clearly marked but I was walking so slowly I didn’t notice the group had gotten so far ahead. They had almost reached camp. But I was still stuck out here in the middle of this rocky black incline.
He looked so small all the way down in the gully. He must have spotted my bright orange parka.
I waved back.
“The trail is that way!” he called out as he pointed towards the red rope snaking its way down the mountain.
I waved back and nodded and started walking towards the red rope.
What a kind poet. What’s his name?
He had a Spanish name, where the J and G and H sound like an exhale. And…
…during the first night of the poetry festival, when the whole town had turned up to watch the foreign poets who been paid to come to this beautiful mountain resort, he read charmingly the story about the lovesick crossword puzzle writer.
He was good looking too. Everyone was in love with him. As was I.
I must remember the name of this poet.
Though I suspect he may be naughtier than he looks.
Yes. I’m back on the trail again.
Labels: A Part Of It, fiction