"Place pieces"

I do all sorts of brainstorming when it comes to coming up with the new ideas for one of my short stories. I am always amused with the ideas that my brain produces out of the blue. There is, however, one thing in common of all these ideas. They're each tied to a certain place.

A place, such as an abandoned cottage. Or a house on a cliff. Or a bench in a park. Or the middle of the woods. I can pretty much bet that my next setting for the new story is going to be at a local swimming pool, with very few people beside my main characters.You get the idea. It took me quite some time to understand what it actually meant, to place my characters in such, I dare say vacuumed, places.

And the answer to that could be best described as: the inevitability. The inevitability of life; it has that cruel tendency to go on, to evolve and expand, and to let it happen, we must say goodbye to our past, one way or another. We have to cut the cords with people and places that are no longer in our lives, or to clear the vibes of resentment towards people who are still somewhere around.

By putting them into these situations, I am forcing them to clear the past, to sort the problems among each other, and to send them on a new, hopefully improved, journey. Another thing, though, is that isolated places often provide us with a sense of comfort and stability. Being with a loved person between the four walls is sometimes a blessing for our lonely hearts. There is a feeling of intimacy, of understanding, of comfort.

How do you look at the "place pieces"? Are you prone to it, or do you prefer building the whole world from scratch?

Mike O'Doone - part 4

Mike was woken up that very early morning by a large thud coming from downstairs. He sat up, and remained under the covers, listening carefully. By the sound of it, it looked like the front door were moved by the intensity of the wind whirling outside. He couldn't be sure, however. He knew that he should probably go downstairs and check it out, but his brain was frozen from fear. 

Besides, it was still too dark for anything to be seen without lighting a candle, and Mike didn't have one near him. He was sure that he'd been asleep for only an hour or so. A few more thuds and then it stopped, although he could clearly hear that the wind was still raging outside. So it was...something? No, someone! Yes, Mike whispered to himself, someone is trying to scare me off. Well then, gentlemen, you know nothing about me. Putting a pillow over his head he closed his eyes and fell asleep once again. 

A few hours later he woke up again and, seeing that it wasn't so dark any more, came downstairs. The first thing he did was looking carefully around the room. Everything was in place. He was a type of person with a photographic memory, and even if a single item was moved but a few centimeters to the side...he'd have noticed it. There was something, however, that didn't give him a piece of mind that he needed. He walked to the door and pulled them open with no effort. That meant that someone was, indeed, trying - and succeeded - to open them. So if that is the case, what made them stop? What made them just walk away after they've put so much trouble into breaking in? And most importantly...who was it?

Was it that shady-looking man from the pub, who had threatened him once before? Or the, equally shady-looking, guy who was keeping his profile low in the darkness last night? Or the pub owner himself? There was, of course, the possibility of a complete stranger. But if it were a stranger, Mike thought to himself, why would he pick this house? Surely, the pub was worth much more money than this shabby old place. The possibilities were endless. Deciding to skip his breakfast and lunch at the pub, he started redecorating the living room. At one point he knew that he would have to build at least a wall or two, but for now he'll have to go with what he had. 
He started with the most tedious task ahead of him: dusting. The dust was evidently present in this place for years, because every single movement of a wet cloth raised it right up to his nose, causing him to sneeze and roll his eyes with irritation. 

When that horrible task was done a good half an hour later, Mike noticed that the floor, now sparkling and clean, was scratched; painfully so. Ah. So he needed to buy new tiles. That was one of the things he was counting on, when he set himself up for this adventure. He knew that this place was damaged, and he was determined to fix it. So just as he was preparing to go upstairs he heard a loud knock on the door. His feet froze in place and he slowly turned around, fixing his gaze on the knob.

It started moving. He stopped breathing.

 

Let's continue playing...

...with the 2nd version of the story. I must point out that the last post was not premeditated. It came as a result of seeing the picture, which is the point, of course. Here is a modified photo of a previous one. Let's see where it takes me.

Version 2:

The house stood in front of him. It was nothing like he remembered. No, wait. He couldn't have remembered it. He's heard about it from his room-mate, but he's never seen it before. It was a plain, wooden house. Actually, a cottage could cover it better. Surrounded with thick woods, the house was barely visible even when the sun was in the middle of the sky. The lavender bush that once was so lovely, so deep and rich in color, was now a sun-burned gathering of straws. There was life in the house but that life was cold and almost dead.

The people who lived there knew nothing of his presence. They were probably inside. Mother was making lunch, a child, a baby girl, was playing on her blanket, and a grandmother was reading a book. Men were not around. He knew that would be the case. All the men have gone long before he even heard his room-mate's story.

"Sometimes I feel like the destiny had her fingers in it. My grandfather went to war and never came back. My father was seduced by another woman. Me...I had a passion for gambling and easy girls, and that is what brought me here. There are no men left in this house. If someone's put a spell over it...well...the spell is too powerful. But you...my dear friend....maybe you can break it. Maybe you can remove whatever the curse is placed upon it." His room-mate breathed shallowly, lying on his prison bed. He had only hours to live.

At his death bed he promised he would look his family up and try to bring back life to the house. And now, as he stood there, fighting all his internal feelings that he should run away. Perhaps it was only the determination of woman who lived there, to take care of the house, that chased away all men who came into their lives. But he will not give in. He will break the chain of unfortunate events. He will bring back harmony. And first of all, he will do all that he can to bring the lavender bush back to life. 

Clenching his fists as if looking for support he stepped in front of the door and knocked softly. And then he waited....