Look at it. That old tower is a glistening white canvas begging to be tagged.
Every year, someone from the Sheriff’s department comes out to the school to remind all the kids not to climb on the old tower.
Something about some kid falling to his death back in the day. I know, right? The thing is made out of steel, and anyway, if it starts to fall, we can just jump off, okay?
It’s senior year. Somebody’s got to do this. You with me or not?
In 250 words or less, tell me a story incorporating the elements in the picture. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until 5:00 PM Pacific Time on Tuesday, June 26th, 2012.
On Wednesday morning, we will open voting to the public with an online poll for the best writing entry accompanying the photo. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday.
On Friday morning, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
Entries only in the comment section. Other comments will be deleted.
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Photograph by K.S. Brooks, used here with the photographer’s permission. Copying or reproduction of any kind without express consent is prohibited. All rights reserved.
For a more detailed explanation of the contest & its workings, please see the post called “Writing Exercises Return with a Twist” from 12/24/11.
By participating in this exercise the contestants agree to the rules of the contest and waive any and all further considerations or permissions otherwise required for any winning entries to be published by Indies Unlimited as an e-book, showcasing all the photos and with the winning expositions credited appropriately and accordingly.
The wind blew wild and lightning cracked the dark sky. Rain lashed the earth, as if it was a non repetent sinner. Still the tower stood so proud and tall. "Look I am stronger than you."
The storm passed and the next storm tried in earnest to take this tower down a peg or two. But it was not a storm, no mere act of Mother Nature at her angriest.
The sun scorched earth of summer, was still warm as darkness once again fell. A strange glow zigged-zagged across the sky. It's path took it straight into the side of the tower. Where Mother Nature had a failed. A drunk alien in charge of the spaceship succeeded.
Andy keyed the mic in his cruiser. “Well, Sheriff, I found out what happened to the town’s water supply.” He wiped sweat from his forehead and sighed. “The tower’s supports are failing, it’s leaning like that Pizza . . . Piza, or whatever over there in Italy.”
Static snapped over the radio.
Sheriff Jacobsen’s voice crackled. “The supports! How? What? Oh man, we don’t need this. Go check it out, and get back to me. ASAP.”
The radio went silent.
Thin clouds filled the horizon. Wispy fingers reached, grasped at the clear blue sky above, but disappeared before they could take hold.
“No rain today,” Andy muttered as he climbed from the cool interior of the car into the dry heat of the day. He shook his head. “If it don’t rain soon . . .” He let the words slip away on the hot breeze and trudged toward the tower. Dust puffed with each step. Dead grass and weeds crunched under his boots.
A grinding, chewing, munching stopped him. Head tipped, Andy crept cautiously forward, followed the sound coming from under the parched land.
Stressed metal squealed. The strut on the left corner sunk another few inches.
The soil next to the descending leg bulged and a small, furry head popped through. The gopher studied Andy, and then seemed to smile, exposing a mouthful of razor teeth.
The tower crashed to the ground. Water gushed over the cracked, sizzling earth.
The car’s radio squealed, “Deputy? Andy? Do you copy?”
“Dude.”
Nothing.
Trevor pushed a strangled whisper into the night. “Duuuude.”
“What?” Jake snapped.
“I heard something.”
“That was an owl. Throw me a spot.”
Trevor hit the switch. The beam caught Jake practically hugging the tower, the half-assed rope harness hiking up the back of his shirt, baring a healthy strip of smooth, tan flesh. Then he saw— “You brought a T-square?”
“Hey, this is art. Any yahoo can tag. I’m an artist.”
“Yeah.” Trevor snorted. “You’re an artist, I’m Bono.”
“Seriously, man.” Aerosol whooshed across the blade with a flourish; Jake took out another can. “They’re gonna write about us one day.”
Trevor swallowed. “In the police blotter if you don’t hurry.”
“Yeah, right.” Jake chuckled under his breath.
Then he heard the same noise. That’s no owl. It’s…metal. Metal moving. Sweat dripped down the front of Trevor’s shirt. “I told you, dude, it’s not safe.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m almost done.” Creak. “Uh-oh.”
“Jake?”
“Crap…”
The tower shifted in slow motion. Trevor rushed up, waving the spot. “The harness. Dude. Get out of that thing.”
Jake’s voice climbed an octave as he struggled. “The knots! Why’d you have to tie ‘em so tight?”
Something snapped like a gunshot. The leg. Trevor leaped forward, grabbing Jake around the waist as the tower fell. He rolled them, didn’t stop until the thing whumped on the ground. Everything went still. He opened his eyes. Smelled sweat and wet Krylon, spelling out J loves T forev—
“Yeah.” I said, with a trace of apprehension.
I looked at the tower and wondered about the kid who had died. Who was he? What were his hopes for the future? I had no idea, but for the first time in my life I was afraid for my own mortality.
“Well? Are you coming or not?” He asked, with a small glint in his eyes. “This is going to be fun.”
I slowly nodded my head, as I could not take my eyes off of the leaning monster I saw before me. “I’m coming.”
Suppressing the dread I felt lingering in my stomach, I walked ahead.
The stories that I had heard when I was younger scared the crap out of me, and I really wanted nothing to do with this. But he was my friend, and friends stick together no matter what. Walking to the tower I felt younger than my Eighteen years, and wanted nothing but my parents.
We got to the ladder on the side, and I hesitated. My friend poked me in the ribs, and laughed as I looked up the rusting steps, and cried out.
“What’s wrong? Do you want to live forever?” He goaded, as he started the long climb.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the first rung, and felt the electricity of an unknown adventure flow through my body. Shaking the Dread I felt, I started climbing.
I really hope that my intuitions are baseless. ‘Please God.” I cried out, climbing up.
"Come on, everyone knows that story is just an urban legend," Marshall chided.
Rick paused in the glow of his Civic's headlights, remembering his parents’ story of the kid who had fallen from the tower years ago when they had been seniors themselves. Wolves had supposedly gotten the body, they said, making it impossible to know if he had still been alive after the fall.
"Shut up, dude, or I may just leave you here," Rick retorted, suppressing a shiver and starting after Marshall.
Every year, graduating seniors climbed the famous "Leaning Tower of Springfield", carving their initials into the water reservoir.
Rick made his way to that tower now, headlights illuminating his path and making up for the cloud-obscured moonlight.
Marshall started up the ladder. With another anxious pause, Rick followed. He wasn't about to let Marshall give him crap for hesitating again.
Rick pulled himself onto the leaning walkway, grabbing the waist-high railing to stabilize himself.
"Told you it wasn't dangerous, wuss," Marshall taunted, pulling out his pocket knife to carve his initials.
Rick's heart stopped dead when he looked towards his friend. Behind Marshall was a white specter, humanoid in shape and glowing in the light from the headlights.
Before he could make his mouth work, Mashall let out a terrified scream as his body was propelled over the railing to the ground below. As Marshall's body hit ground with a sickening thud, the specter’s face turned up to Rick with a cruel smile.
“Just a little bit farther, Dad.”
Rob’s father nodded, trying to hide his wheeze.
Rob kept going, pulling the backpack up his shoulders yet again. Their foraging in Omaha was cut short before they could find a replacement clasp, and so the pack kept sagging.
If the jugs in it had been full, it would have sagged even worse.
They drained the last one two days ago, under the southern half of a collapsed overpass—the only shade they’d found in days. It felt too good to stop drinking. And the water tower wasn’t far. Or so the map had said.
His son kept them going, kept hope alive. He’d taken on so much. First the pack, then the map, then the shotgun. Now he was leading too. When had their roles reversed? How had he so easily slipped into his son’s shadow?
Rob slowed as they finally approached the tower, but his caution was almost certainly to let his father catch his breath. No one would ambush them way out here in the middle of nowhere.
When they saw it, that leaning rusted hulk of a tower, Rob seemed to suddenly limp, his pace at a crawl. All the energy had left him.
So he knew too. There would be nothing for them here. Only a patch of shade from tower’s tank.
The only patch of shade for days. It was a good place to rest. To say goodbye to his son.
This wasn’t his world any longer.
“I will if you will,” I sighed. Then, it hit me. “Wait a second. You think if we all climb up the higher side, we can tilt it back to level?”
Danny rolled his eyes. “That’s crazy. How much you think that thing weighs? And what about the water?”
I thought for a minute. “If it was full, it would’ve fallen over years ago.”
“How do you know? Was that one of those Math story problems I didn’t do?” Danny tossed a rock at the tank. It missed by a mile. “Maybe we should start calling you Einstein.”
“I’m serious. How many of us graduate in June?”
“About two-thirty.”
“Okay. So, if we average a hundred pounds each, that’s twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Danny closed his eyes and calculated in his head. “Not quite, Einstein.”
I gave him a grin. “I rounded up.”
Danny lobbed another rock. It fell short, hitting the ground with a thump.
“So, what if we get ninth, tenth, and eleventh grades to help?”
He shook his head.
“C’mon, Danny!” I said. “That’s a hundred thousand pounds. Don’t you wanna be part of the senior class that fixes the tower?”
At that part of the story Amy shifted to look at me. “Danny didn’t want to, Grandpa?”
“Oh yeah, honey. We all did.”
Her dark brown eyes widened. “Then why’s the tower still crooked?”
I laughed. “There were so many of us that night, we ended up tilting it the other way.”
Then, we shared a wink.
This was not good.
The ladder was gone and the tilting tower was going to draw attention. They would be out to investigate in no time.
Gerald heaved his heavy frame from the aged truck that was the tool of his trade.
Pulling back the tarpaulin he swatted at the flies crawling over his latest victim.
He had four girls in that tower and this Godforsaken creature before him was not going to join them.
Lighting a Marlborough he leaned against the tailgate and considered his options.