The Neverending ( community ) story

So, seeing as we have a fair few people here who enjoy writing and this is a time when things to do can be hard to find, I thought I might start a community story as it were.

Simple rules. Continue the story from where the last post stopped. If you want to give a brisk description of details or events so you can bridge to a more detailed part of the story or can’t think how to write it, feel free to do so.

I’m not going to give the lead character gender or race right now as, quite frankly, I find with books you create a lot of the details in your own mind and I’d rather create a story where personality trumps those two. The setting is a real world block of flats in a run down area but with a fair amount of park and field area. The person is a hard worker – some would say driven, or running away from their past/memories – and not really religious or superstitious, however, with the Coronavirus and their work closing for a time, that may be set to change.

“I found myself wondering what to do after the first few days. Being free from the daily grind was always the dream, but I guess it was always that because I would never need to live it.
It was then that I remembered the communal garden. The front of the block was mostly weeds and mud running up to the parking bays – home to a couple of escaped shopping trolleys which seemed to move of their own accord and gobble up the freewheeling plastic bags roaming the area. A fence used to mark the point where front garden became back but years of neglect had allowed the thick bramble mass to encroach over it.
Frankly half of the back garden, at least, was blocked off by brambles while the other half had been saved, by a great effort from one of my neighbours, for use by the children and was home to two cheap plastic goals and a well worn ball.

I know it doesn’t sound like much but.., well, don’t call me mad but.., um.., I’m sure there’s something beyond the brambles. Oh, I know, all you can see from the upper floors is the road beyond and a line of old bungalows which seemed to have escaped the purge but..
Well for one thing, when you peer in from the garden it looks like the brambles go back further than they could.
Then there’s the stone – You can only see it at certain times but I’d swear it’s in there – a great big grey monolith cutting up amid the thorns like a knife blade, covered in lichen and sharp edges.
The thing is, well I could put all these down to light and my imagination but., I’m sure I’ve seen movement beyond the thorns..”

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