Fall of Water

Welcome back to #flashfictionfriday number 3!  Today, I will not be sharing the prompt, since the inspiration from Tumblr’s @writing-prompt-s is the ending of a story instead of the usual beginning.  So without further ado, I present you with this weeks contribution:


The dark stone was a canvas, calling to Harriett as she ran her fingers over the textured surface.  She closed her eyes, letting her consciousness drift into the blocks, sensing the form it would take tonight.  Her lips curved into a smile as the stone recalled great cliffs and a roaring waterfall.  The image of a rainbow over the cascade burned itself onto her eyelids, providing the inspiration she needed to start.

Gently, she set her backpack on the ground.  She spared a quick glance around the alley before tugging on the zipper.  Inside, sixteen cans of spray paint stood at attention, colorful lids catching the nearby streetlight.  Her heart swelled with pride every time she opened her pack – she had specially designed the inside with layers of fabric.  The pattern created a sleeve for each can, keeping them protected, and most importantly, quiet.

Harriet selected bright red.  It was her favorite color, and a perfect place to start.  A quick, curving movement and an arch appeared on the stone in front of her.  More colors followed; orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple were added, each building the rainbow the stones had shown her.

She didn’t stop there.  Blue and white paint swirled together, combining under the rainbow to create foaming water.  With a sharp turn, it cascaded into a pool of water, ripples billowing out until it reached a border or rocks, coated in moss.  With a touch of gray, Harriett highlighted the stones, creating the illusion of cliffs containing the massive flow of water.

The sound of the midnight bus on the roadway overhead reminded her she had to hurry.  Green became a meadow, a few bright spots of color for flowers dotting the expanse.  She debated adding fish jumping out of the pool, but decided she wouldn’t have time.  Tucking her materials into their sleeves, Harriett stepped back to review her work.  Still a bit rough around the edges, but it was going to have to do.

Shouldering her backpack, she took one last look around to ensure the coast was clear before placing both hands on the picture.  Eyes squeezed shut, she felt the magic running through her palms and into the stone.  She felt it awaken, the slightest stirrings underneath her fingertips.  Holding the image of a cliff in her mind, she released the stones from the mortar, infusing them with the memories of their former glory.

Done.  She stepped back.  To the untrained eye, the overpass looked much the same as before.  Her soul felt the excitement of the wall, as it began to shift itself into a new form – reshaping into the cliff from her painting.

She knew from experience that it would take two full days for the structure to collapse, and a week at least to recreate the vision she had created.  Two days was plenty of time for authorities to recognize the painting and reroute traffic off the now condemned bridge.

Realizing she had forgotten to sign, Harriett reached over her shoulder for the red, conveniently packed in the easy to reach front sleeve.  She gave the can a few good shakes as she surveyed the landscape, trying to decide what to name it.  With a smile, she held down the sprayer and added a few words beneath the green meadow and rippling pool:

Fall of Water by Preservationist

Tucking everything away, she sprinted down the alley, her paint cans as silent as her soft soled shoes.

Thanks for Reading!






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