Visual Inspiration—Photo Prompt #28

Let this image engage your muse. Write a paragraph, a short story, a poem, a memory, a journal entry…or whatever you feel inspired to create. And share your creations in the comments if you’d like!

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2 Responses to “Visual Inspiration—Photo Prompt #28”

  1. 1 herby June 26, 2011 at 6:32 pm

    *Just a little fun – I don’t know why but these red phone boxes always make me think of time travel. Perhaps it’s because I associate them with Dr Who – not that I’ve ever managed to watch any Dr Who because I always find myself either bored or confused within a few minutes. But, I think somehow he has inspired this little piece.*


    The three red phone boxes looked so out of place standing there in the field. All around birds sang and trees whispered in the breeze. There was no one around – not a car, a house or even a shop. But there they were as reminders of a prosperous time gone by. And, perhaps, a caution of the way the greed of prosperity must be tempered by respect for the generations from whom we borrow the earth.

    Roland felt sadness well in his heart as he looked at those telephone boxes. He came to this field every year on the anniversary of the tragedy that cost the world its prosperity. And in this field he would remember the lessons of times gone by. Lessons that he found so difficult to grasp. How was it possible that a whole civilisation could let itself disintegrate like the Romans and the Myans had before?

    As he stood there in memory of his ancestors, Roland felt the breeze on his skin and the cool moist grass beneath his bare feet.


    The peace was suddenly disturbed by a sound not heard in decades.


    It was incessant. A demanding call that Roland had never heard before.


    It came from the phone boxes – those derelict relics from a time gone by.

    Roland was unable to ignore it. Hesitantly he stepped in the direction of the bright red artifacts.


    The phone sounded more urgent than it had before. And Roland felt himself running to answer it.

    ‘Umm … Hello …,’ he heard himself say with an insecure and nervous tone in his voice.

    ‘Who are you?’ the voice sounded vaguely familiar and yet totally foreign.

    ‘Umm … I’m not sure it matters. How can you be calling me?’

    ‘Oliver, stop playing games. I have the goods. See you at the junction in 5.’ And with that, the receiver went dead in Roland’s ear.

    ‘Who are you? What goods? What junction?’ Roland asked the void that now existed between him and the voice that had spoken.

    He stood there dazed and confused for a moment. And then he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t stop until the forsaken phones were well behind him and the memory of their shrill call seemed an imagining.

    Roland would never know that he had stepped into a time warp. That for a brief moment he had been in contact with a voice from the past. That the voice had made that call on the day of the tragedy. And that he, Roland, a man living in another century was the last thing the voice had known.

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