What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Walking - by Marita Decosta

She was walking, how curious, not the fact that she was walking that's silly, but why would she suddenly realize she is taking a walk, and feel quite happy about it. Each step produced an interesting sound. Walking in bare feet made a certain sound, as did walking in high heels, boots, sneakers, and flip flops, but this sound was none of those She stopped walking, and pressed her sensory perception a bit beyond the audible. The first to respond was the skin on the tip of her nose, then her cheeks, both replied in perfect harmony, “it's cold”, yes she thought, the air, it's cold, but I feel warm, how odd. Time to up the ante and bring visual fully online, she knew her eyes were open but she wasn't really consciously observing at the moment, another mystery, why would she not?

Her eyes slowly, (why slowly?) began to resolve the view before her. A sheet of white below a dark fringe, blue above. The white sheet began to take on form and shadow, the dark fringe took on color, a dark green, a forest green, the blue began to gradient from lighter to deeper as she looked higher, then all snapped into place. She was walking on snow...snow, how odd. The dark fringe was forest green because it was...duh..a forest of evergreen trees in the distance, and the blue was the most beautiful clear sky she had ever seen and she felt her heart rejoice in its beauty. She realized now why she did not recognize the sound her footsteps made, she had only walked on snow on rare occasions and only a couple of times, wearing snowshoes, but just when she thought things were starting to make sense the little voice chimed in, “and why are walking across an open field in snowshoes?”, reasonable question she thought yet the question somehow startled her, “why am I” she asked the little voice but the little voice was silent, leaving her to work the rest of it out on her own.

She looked down to see and admire the sleek white coated magnesium snowshoes, with stainless steel mesh and heavy black ballistic nylon straps she had worn once before, and was startled once again, they were not very large, though they did have the basic form of a snowshoe, their true shape became immediately apparent, tennis rackets, tied to her boots, which were not her boots, and mismatched, one was brown, one was black, and the funny thing was at the moment it really didn't matter, what did was she continue her walk. Lifting her eyes she noticed a curious structure ahead, that had gone previously unnoticed, how strange she thought, and decided to investigate and continued to walk with the now familiar sound of snowshoe tennis rackets crunching the top of the snow.

As she approached, the structure began to take on form, a recognizable form which implied a function, a not possible function, it looked like a train or bus stop near the edge of an open field that was covered in snow with not the slightest hint of any roads or tracks anywhere, “how bizarre” she thought. It had four benches, all facing out ward, each bench isolated from the other on three sides by glass walls, it was like you could sit on any bench you wished, you could see any other travelers around on other benches, but if you wished to have a friendly chat with another to pass the time waiting for the train or bus, you had to choose to sit on the same bench together, “how clever” she thought and decided to sit down on a bench and rest a bit. Sitting on the bench she noticed she was facing back the way she had come and hers eyes followed the shoe prints she had made in the snow which led back to where she apparently started. Off in the distance, more completely out of character for the surroundings then this little station, was what looked like wreckage, burning wreckage, quite disturbing to look at, “did I come from there?” she asked herself” , “do you really want to know?, the little voice chimed in once more. She shuddered and blinked her eyes, it was time to continue her walk, putting the station behind her she walked on and did not look back again.

Marita Decosta, 10 December 2013

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