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Thursday, 9 June 2011

In 5th position of competition entry

I loved this story, it so took me back to the film in question.

The Last Snows of Spring

Although it was almost the end of March there was yet no hint of Spring. Roger leaned forward and tried to catch a glimpse of the passing scenery from the car window, but in the pre-dawn dark there was nothing to see but his own eerie reflection. The man on his right pushed him roughly in the chest.
  “Sit back,” the man shouted.
It was not his native tongue, but Roger understood the man well enough. After all, he'd had a long time to learn. He sat back.
    “I wonder where we'll end up this time.” He turned to his left and spoke quietly to his friend  Bernard.
  “Who knows?” The other man gave a shrug that indicated he wasn't really interested in such matters.

Slowly, lazily the first hint of dawn tapped the sky with frost-dazzled fingernails. The snow outside  became visible, and the road ahead was deserted. In another time this journey could almost have been pleasant. He wondered where he would be when the first green shoots of Spring deigned to make an appearance. What flowers would he watch bloom, bud and ultimately die? How long would it be before he could observe nature's annual miracle at work in his own garden? Not too much longer now, surely?

Roger felt the full throated roar of the car slow to a gentle purr and realised they were stopping. He turned again to Bernard. The Frenchman indicated with the merest lift of one eyebrow that he didn't know why. All became clear when the other two passengers alighted and fumbled with cold hands for cigarette packets. Moving a few feet away from the car, their chatter drifted idly towards the two men left in the back seat.
  “Damn, I could do with one of those.” Roger muttered.
Bernard just laughed. “Soon enough my friend, soon enough.”

There was a shout from one of the men outside and the driver climbed out and joined them. After a brief conversation he returned to the car.
  “Out.” He said, as he pulled the back door open. “You can relieve yourselves over there, ” he jerked his head towards a clump of snow-kissed bushes, “but don't go too far.”
As the two men hesitated  he continued. “I suggest you do so. We have a long way to go.”
Roger felt it prudent to do as he was told and headed toward the bushes, Bernard following.

For a fraction of a second Roger didn't recognise the sound, so familiar yet so alien in this tranquil landscape. Then, as he felt the pain and saw Bernard collapse next to him, he understood.

Roger Bushell had no way of knowing that he was one of fifty men who were to become famous for being illegally executed for what they had done. He would also never know that he would live on  in history as the mastermind behind what would forever be known simply as  'the great escape'.

Congratulations go to Sarah Pearson.


  1. Darn, there's always one more edit you could have done isn't there? Surely flowers bud then bloom, not the other way round, as I have it.

    I'm glad you enjoyed the story Lesley. Thanks for the placing. Is it okay to put it on my own blog?

  2. Sarah, please feel free to use on your blog, it still belongs to you, maybe put a link back to this site would be great thanks for entering.

  3. Hi Sarah, congrats, I enjoyed your story.

  4. A great story that paints the picture in the readers mind.


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