Porthole

Looking through the round window, Paris © Tanya Clarke 2015

Looking through the round window, Paris © Tanya Clarke 2015

Writing Prompt No. 24

The window was small and round, framing a tiny portion of the outside where everyone stood waiting, watching for the big ship to sail.

Louisa rubbed the glass with the handkerchief she kept in a small pouch that hung from her wrist.

“Louisa,” said her mother, “that is not to be used for cleaning the glass.” She tutted and turned her head. Louisa knew her mother was not looking forward to the long journey ahead. They were to meet her father who had been living in Australia for three years. From the north of England the journey by sea would be long and arduous. Louisa was looking forward to an adventure. She’d read stories about strange animals, different people, a landscape unlike anything she had ever seen.

Her two younger brothers’ (why not sisters’) played marbles on the floor of the cabin. The sway of the floating ship in dock caused them to roll slowly from one side of the room to the other.

“Boys!” said their mother, “ Will you put those away before one of us trips and breaks our neck.”

Louisa looked away from her mother to the outside world. People were waving. What or who were they waving to? She was anxious to see her father. She wasn’t sure she remembered how he looked. Would he look older? Would she look older? She was after all. She wore her hair up now, no longer in the girlish curls and ribbons of three years ago.

Please do share your own stories in the comments below.