Another photo-prompt, another story. This one loosely based on fact. I did get stuck in quicksand at a wishing well. I did make a wish. My audience did not appear. I did get free. I did not save my shoes.

I have this little personality flaw. I always take the road less travelled. Sometimes, this is a good, sometimes it gets me into far too much trouble to be worth it.

Oh, it looks innocuous enough – a tunnel of green, light shining through the canopy above, the sweet scent of moss and growing things. What could possibly be wrong with this picture of serene peace?

I’ll tell you. That gentle pathway, that soft, leaf-strewn ground, isn’t ground at all. It’s bloody quicksand.

How do I know this? Because this may be the last picture I ever take. Right this moment, I’m standing knee-deep in sucking, stinking goo narrating my what might be my last words to the empty air. The slurping sound of the hungry earth joined a melody of ringing laughter from the trees above. I think they’re leaning even closer to watch my slow descent into the maw of the monster.

Bloody hell. The thing is this. I’m close enough to remove my feet from my boots and land back on my ass on solid ground. But… But… I love these boots. They’re Hunters wellies and they cost a small fortune and I’m damned if I’ll leave them here in a muddy grave. I’d rather go down with them then have to resume my walk, shoeless and humiliated.

Also, I’m wearing odd socks ­– so there’s that to consider too. And the fact, that I need help to get out of them on a good day. One when I’m not sinking slowly into oblivion.

Oh great. Someone’s coming. A blessing and a curse. They might get me out this sticky predicament, but they’ll also get a story to dine out on for all eternity at my expense. Not my proudest moment.

Continue reading at The Blurred Line