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, September 17, 2014

It's a long way up. by Marcus247

Steve stood at the top of the bridge, looking down. The cool autumn air made him tug at his jacket, wrapping himself snuggly. He leant on the railing and sighed, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. His eyes scanned around him, the hight of the bridge meant he could see for miles, the different coloured leaves on the trees, farmland in the distance, the air so still and quiet.

"Those things will kill you!" came a voice to his side, he glanced up and smiled.
"That's really not funny," she said, gazing at the woman by his side, she in turn smiled back to him. He blew out a stream of smoke before dropping it and stnading on the smoking butt. "I was starting to wonder if you were coming."
She gazed out at the scenery, "you know I always try to make it," she sighed, "it's just not always that easy."
He nodded slowly, "well, I am glad you did," he said.
"Me too," she moved a little closer to him, "you know I love you, don't you?"
He sighed and felt his shoulders sag, "of course I do, I have always known that, and I know how much I love you, even now."
She cocked her head, "even now?"
"When things changed, when the," he paused, "the unpleasantness, it never stopped me loving you."
She looked at him with a wry smile, "the unpleasantness, you mean when you cheated on me with another woman?" she stepped closer, "look, I know we can't be together right now, I know you want things to just go back to the way they were, but we can't at the moment, you know things are..." she trailed off.
He nodded, this was not the first time this conversation had taken place, "I know, I'm sorry, I shouldn't waste my time with you, it is far too precious."
"It's okay, I know you still hurt, I know you still come here because you can't forgive yourself, I really wish you would find someone else, move on, you can't spend your life living in the past, what is done is done, and we can't change that."
"I am not moving on, I am waiting for you, you know my feelings on that?"
She shook her head at him, "and how long are you going to wait?"
He frowned at her, "as long as it takes," he said, his eyes searched for hers, "you know you can always come home," he said, the desperation evident in his voice.
Her hand reached for his and passed through it, "you know it is such a long way up."
He looked at her, and sighed, watching as she started to fade in front of him. He lay the flowers he had brought by the railings and trudged away, knowing he would be back soon.

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