#writephoto — Heritage

2142471b-500f-4489-bbb7-15e0f3631cb6Phoebe was excited when the envelope arrived. Having been adopted when she was just a baby, she knew nothing about her heritage. She dearly loved the couple who adopted her, and they were the only parents she ever knew, but once she turned 25, the void in her life, that of finding her roots, had to be addressed. It was an itch that she knew had to be scratched.

It took nearly four months, but the envelope from the DNA testing service Phoebe had engaged finally was delivered. Her hands were actually trembling as she carefully opened the envelope and read the report.

456459cc-6aaf-443e-b38c-11d398393fffWhen she saw that her heritage was 90% Scottish, it both shocked and excited Phoebe. She decided that she needed to dig deeper and to investigate her family tree. Did she come from peasant stock, the working class, or maybe even the aristocracy? Phoebe had to know; she became obsessed with learning more of her heritage. She paid more money to the DNA testing service and ultimately learned that her ancestry could be traced all the way back to the time of the Scottish king, Robert I, popularly known as Robert the Bruce.

That’s when Phoebe took a leave of absence from her job and flew to Scotland to find out even more. She spent two months going deeper and deeper into her family’s history. It ultimately led her to a cemetery where she came across an old stone sarcophagus carved in the shape of a warrior knight. This knight, who had fought bravely in battle along side Robert the Bruce, was distantly related to her historic clan.

Phoebe was so overcome with emotions when she discovered the location of her most distant relative that she came back the next day and placed a single red rose across the sarcophagus, along with a handwritten note that read, “In memory of a loyal knight of the House of Bruce who gave his life for his king in July 1314.”

Shortly thereafter, Phoebe flew home and told her adoptive parents of her discovery, and then hugged them both, thanking them profusely for their love and care.


Written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.

Sunday Photo Fiction — Just Bagpipes

47315682-8671-48B9-90F7-731F29684E00“Do you sell kilts?” the man asked.

“No, sir, just bagpipes,” the man behind the table responded.

“How about tartan scarves?” another prospective customer asked.

“Just bagpipes, ma’am.”

A man walked up to the proprietor and said, “I’m looking for a Scottish sporran, but I don’t see any on display.”

“That’s because we make and sell bagpipes,” he said, pointing to the banner behind him.

A lady with a perplexed look on her face asked, “Scottish clan tumblers?”

“Sorry, lady, our specialty is bagpipes,” the man answered. “Only bagpipes.”

The next customer explained that he used to have a pewter hip flask with an engraved Scottish piper on it. “I don’t suppose you have one of those, do you?” he asked.

The guy manning the booth finally lost it. He threw down his water bottle and started to shout. “What the fook is wrong with you fooking people? I am a bagpipe maker. I make and sell bagpipes. Not kilts, not scarves, not tumblers, not sporrans, not flasks. Just bagpipes. Only bagpipes. Can’t you fookers read?”

And with that, the guy told everyone to get out of his booth. “I’m done,” he shouted, and started packing up his bagpipes.

(199 words)


Written for Susan Spaulding’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: C.E. Ayr.