Tell The Story Challenge

Purple Rose over at Confessions of a Reluctant Preacher’s Daughter challenged me to write a story!  I had to pick a photo from the ones she posted and make up a story.

The rules are simple:
Present a picture, then tell the story of the picture. It can be as short or as long as you want it to be. Nominate at least 3 people to write a story based on the photo you share.

Here is the photo I chose:

The Campfire Story

He sat, staring at the fire as it grew.  He thought of the retold story of how the Native American built a small fire and huddled very close, while the white man made a big fire and stood far away.

Here he was, a fifteen-year-old Eagle Scout, the senior patrol leader, but he never felt like a leader.  He had a lot of responsibilities, but he’d prefer going back to the job of the scribe.  Give him some money to be the steward of, a double-entry ledger, and most importantly, peace and quiet away from the other boys.  As senior patrol leader, he had to give instructions to the troop as a whole, and he had to teach classes to small groups on various things.  He had taken the young tenderfeet and second-class scouts on a hike that day, flipping over logs and explaining what each of the insects were that they found.  He had found a black widow spider and taught them to leave it alone.  When a deadly water moccasin crawled onto the path, he calmly turned the boys around and walked in the other direction, a lesson in and of itself.  But to get in front of the troop at a campfire and entertain?  Forget it.  He could never overcome his fear of public speaking.  Besides, he had no stories to tell.  Now, the scoutmaster?  He had stories.

He was lost in these thoughts as the scoutmaster started the night’s entertainment with his classic story of his elk hunt.  He saw the elk hiding behind a large boulder.  He could only see the antlers.  He had the elk trapped in a box canyon, but he only had one bullet.  He either shot the elk or his family went hungry that day.  If he walked around the boulder in one direction, the elk would only escape the other way.  He then spends a few minutes explaining how he calculated the angles, the smoothness of the canyon walls, wind direction, humidity, and distance to make a ricochet shot around the canyon walls – side wall, back wall, and then elk, then food for supper.  He then aimed and pretended to fire the shot.  He waited for a tenderfoot to ask him if he had shot the elk.  Then, the scoutmaster said, “No, I missed the canyon wall.”

The assistant scoutmaster joined the scoutmaster for the senior patrol leader’s favorite song of all time, Alfalfa Hay.  The tune was to How Dry I Am, but they just sang “alfalfa hay,” over and over and over again.  What made the song so wonderful is that they changed the key, the pitch, the tempo, and at one point sang it as a round.  Once done, they got the boys to sing a few of the standard campfire songs.

Then the scoutmaster turned to the reluctant senior patrol leader and said, “You have been the top guy in the troop for six months.  We have never heard you tell a campfire story.”  The scoutmaster ushered him to his feet and had him positioned in front of the fire.

What could he say?  This troop was never into ghost stories.  Besides he hated those.  He had no story to tell at all.  So, he just started talking, randomly.

“Eli Whitney was working on his new invention, the cotton gin, when an apple got caught in the blades.  The contraption threw the apple clear out of sight.  The apple flew until it hit Sir Isaac Newton on the head.  Sir Isaac thought the apple had fallen from the tree he was under.  He figured that he had just discovered gravity, so he went home to tell his mother.  Along the way, he tripped along the path and fell.  He looked to see what he had tripped over.  It was a sword.  He picked it up.  He now had a second discovery of the day, but as he walked along, he met a young lady who was sorely distressed.  She said her name was Eve and her husband had done her wrong.  Her husband started making fart noises under his armpit and he wouldn’t stop once she said that it irritated her.  Sir Isaac said that he had nothing in which to console her.  She said that the sword in his hand was nice and shiny.  So, Sir Isaac let her have the sword.  With a shiny sword under her arm, she started feeling better.  She decided to go home, but as she walked in the front door, her husband was still sitting on the couch, making fart noises.  In a moment of rage, Eve raised the sword and cut her husband into two pieces.  And that, my friends, is the first time that mankind had split the Adam.” (For those who use English as a second or third language, Adam and atom sound similar.)

The troop of boys and the adult leaders roared.  He held out his hands in victory before the fire, but honestly, he could only remember the punchline of his story.  He had no idea where any of the story had come.  He only knew the story made no sense, but the young boys clamored for more.

The young fifteen-year-old wondered if he should start writing down such nonsense, and so he did.

The end.  Or is it?

Here are the photos I have chosen for you to write a post about.Please, choose one!

Let’s see…who should I challenge? …

Amy at A New Life

Cheryl of Blessed Dragon

Jeff Rab of RabBits

Have fun friends!

*If anyone else would like to choose a photo and write a story please feel free to do so.


Add yours →

  1. First off I want to say fantastic blog! I had a quick question that I’d like to ask if you don’t
    mind. I was interested to know how you center yourself and clear your thoughts before writing.
    I’ve had a difficult time clearing my thoughts in getting my thoughts out there.
    I do take pleasure in writing however it just seems
    like the first 10 to 15 minutes are generally lost just trying to figure out how to begin. Any ideas or
    hints? Thanks!

    Liked by 1 person

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