The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

Scribe's Cave Picture Prompt: Where Time Lives Forever

"Flemington!""Yes, madam." The butler stood stiffly and waited for his employer to decide what she wanted."Would you please close the south window? And bring me another cocktail; this waiting for the General has given me an upset stomach." She spoke over the corner of her wingback chair. "Have we heard from the front, Flemington?""No madam." A sigh. "Do let me know the moment you receive news, won't you? Now, the window and that cocktail, please.""Yes, madam." Flemington looked out at the cobbled grounds. He sniffed with disdain at the horseless carriages below, shut the window and the curtain, and disappeared into the depths of the house. The drink order would need to wait; Flemington would not allow interlopers to disturb the manor while the General was away."Did you see that?" George pointed to the bay window on the balcony.The agent smiled. "Don't tell me--you saw a man?" George nodded. "It's just a trick of the light. No one's lived here since the war. It's fine; there's stories about the place--contaminated waterfall, ghosts. It's all malarkey, I tell you. Let me show you around." George pulled his wife close and they followed carefully.


Ah, what 198 words can do: a bit of artistic liberty and an abandoned hotel near a contaminated waterfall becomes a haunted manor house. My offering for this week's SCPP. Click the image to visit and link up.

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