A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Views

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Views

The window had other views, but her mother never changed to them. She kept it set on the field right before harvest, their own land free and clear. It was a simple loop, animated from a still, but it was enough that she would glance out and think herself home.

Cara changed it whenever her mother was gone. She didn’t really care which view she landed on, although the old lost Golden Gate bridge was her least favourite. It wasn’t a place she’d ever seen in her life, but she remembered the stories of its fall, of the people that fell with it, and it didn’t inspire the awe she thought the view master had intended.

If she had to pick a favourite, it would be the grand canyon. The shot was taken right from the edge, perhaps even a foot or so over it, and all you could see out the window was the drop and the far side in the distance.

Sometimes, when she bothered to think about it, it seemed strange that a view of a fall that hadn’t happened yet was something that disturbed her, but a view of a drop elated. But those on the bridge had expected to be safe. They should have been and they weren’t. On the edge of the canyon they shouldn’t feel safe at all. If they feel there, it was no one else’s fault but their own.

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