from the Journals of the Claxton Brothers, ca. 1843.
After experiencing what we’d come to call “the Plunge,” we traveled the familiar creekbed back toward our cabin. On departing for the hunt the water flowed strong, securing our wagon deep in its tow. It was dry now, the entire wagon missing. And our homestead, hewn of stone, carefully plugged and plastered, now displayed gaps and cracks, with dust and moulder monitoring its decay. Having left just hours ago at the tail-end of night, how could things have altered so? As if ages and drought, plunder and wear all visited here meanwhiles. Window given over to darkness, the entrance as open and vague as a ghost.
Polysemic Stupor 
Reminds me of a computer game our girls used to play where they almost inevitably died of either cholera or some other disease. Not that you have disease in your piece, but the time period you evoked so well harkens back to those days. Nice job.
Enjoyed the story, you painted it well with your words.
Cue Rod Serling! This left me pondering what force had altered their world an if it was a good, or bad thing.
thank you 🙂
I myself am curious about what happened in “the Plunge”
thank you!
thanks, i was picturing the like…Jeremiah Johnson-types 🙂
That one phase ‘the Plunge’ has got my mind whirling! Very intriguing
Nicely understated menace in this one. Well done.
Like the atmosphere this creates. Sounds like the beginning of something
What was the plunge?
Beautifully written – an intriguing piece with a lovely sense of mystery. Good job!
You’ve been to ours – thanks for your comment.
thank you – had the same sorta feeling for me
exactly
thanks
Some places have that feel to them. This one is certainly weird! I liked your take on the prompt.
thank you much!
thank you much!