One of my friends from Facebook posted a challenge on her wall. Make a story out of this prompt: “The stone man and the fungi went to the beach.” Below is the picture she posted to give us inspiration. I took the first half of the sentence and did a story with it. 6 words instead of 3, but that’s okay! This one is for you Melissa.
One day a conifer trunk, fuzzy and green with moss, fell out of the forest on the edge of the surf. A lovely cluster of Angel Wings grew out of its side on a knot which now sat on top of the log. She was exquisite, as you would imagine fungi with that name to be. Her cap was graceful, smooth and creamy white. It had just the right amount of ruffle to the edges. The delicate fungi blinked in this newfound atmosphere.
Bright sunny days were not her favorite ones of course; she wilted terribly in the light. Being fungi her days were numbered anyhow, as most mushrooms have short lives. She strove only to mature and release her spores. Showered in salt spray from the ocean, she longed for her peaceful dark forest once more.
She sat watching the waves as the incoming tide pounded the beach. It brought with it sand from Japan and Hawaii as well as pebbles from all over the ocean floor. Small, charcoal-grey and rounded, the pebbles fit well in the palm of the hand and would have been perfect for skipping had they been at the edge of a mirrored lake or pond. Several small pebbles stacked one on top of the other, forming a little man. Propelled by the surf he skipped up the beach. Coming across the fungi, he stopped and stepped onto the mossy conifer.
“Hello there Mum,” said the stone man, doffing an invisible fedora. The mushrooms did not respond. “I say, hello there,” he persisted. Again, no response. Och she’s playing hard to get. Cheeky little thing ‘init, he thought, edging closer. These particular pebbles came to this northwestern beach from England by way of the Atlantic Ocean, around Cape Horn and on up the great Pacific. It was a long journey and while he was considerably smaller than when he left his home millennia ago, he was no less brave hearted for it. Quite the opposite in fact, and he had set his cap for the dainty little angel in front of him.
Alas, the ruffled fungi had slightly more pressing concerns. Her beautiful white caps were beginning to brown and wilt. The salt water and harsh sunlight had worn her down and now to make things even worse this little stone man was trying to be friendly with her and they had not even been properly introduced! Why her mother would turn over in her forest, that’s what. Still he was kind of cute, in a brutish sort of way. One of her caps drooped down and began to turn to mush. Perhaps… perhaps she could have a fling, she thought. It looked as though she hadn’t much time left in these elements anyhow; another day or two at most. She looked over to him and smiled shyly. She decided to throw caution away and give in to her desires. The Angel Wings took a deep breath and tore herself away from the conifer. Momentum (and the wind, truth be told) carried her over the log and down to the wet sand. The surf promptly washed over her.
“My love nooo- euwww.” He exclaimed. She was turning to black sludge in front of his eyes. Gone was the pristine white, so smooth and inviting. Gone were the frilly caps that had drawn his eye across the way. All that was left now were a few flecks of some vague color in a puddle of black ooze. Oh these modern women, he thought. What a shame, a proper lady would never throw herself at a man!