JUSTIFIABLE

Had she done the right thing?

She had no idea. Others would judge her.

She only knew she had done what she thought best.

The water was icy cold on her feet. It reached the bottom of her dress, weighing the light linen down. The light gold sand swirled around her ankles.

The red on her dress dissolved into the water.

She stared at her hands then cleansed them, dipping them into the sea.

Behind her the sound of sirens faintly broke the morning still.

The cold water rose above her waist causing her to inhale sharply at the shock.

She only knew her children were no longer within his reach.

As the sun began to rise on the horizon she held up her thumb and covered the orange circle. Just like that she hid the brightest star in the Earth’s sky.

Would that what she had done could be so easily erased.

Buffeted by the lapping waves, tasting the salt on her lips, the water embraced her fully.


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Copyright Footy and Foodie

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 – 175 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

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CASTAWAY

The sea was calm and a brilliant clear blue, mirrored by the cloudless sky above.

The storm had railed against the mysterious island for three weeks, the same surge that had capsized the cargo ship and driven them to the unknown land in the canoe life rafts.

‘You’re sure which direction?’ Gideon asked.

Cyrus shrugged. ‘We can’t stay here. Nothing but sand and rock and we haven’t seen another ship all the time we’ve been here.’

‘There must be a search party looking for the wreck and survivors. Why haven’t they picked up our emergency beacons?’

Cyrus shrugged again. He wanted to get away from the island. Something felt wrong. They had explored it all and found no sign of life but still he couldn’t shake the feeling they were not alone.

They shook hands before each solemnly getting into their meagre craft.

As they pulled away from the beach Cyrus looked back.

He saw the glint of sunlight reflected on glass. Standing on a rock he saw the man watching them leave through his telescope.


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My small tale was suggested by the classic novel ‘The Mysterious Island‘, by Jules Verne.

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

DEFIANCE

They sat by the sea watching children play on the beach.

‘Alright?’ he put his arm around her shoulder.

The tears slowly running down her face gave him his answer.

It had taken her twenty years to return. Years of pain and guilt. She had been their teacher. They had trusted in her. She was supposed to protect them.

A school outing before the summer holiday began. A visit to the local museum for a bit of history and then a trip to the beach. It wasn’t her fault the terrorists had come that day.

The images still haunted her. They would never leave her. The panic, the terror, the fear in those young faces. The blood. The dead.

Governments fought aimless wars and encouraged segregation and hate. Religions tried to absolve themselves of blame. Terrorists continued to kill with no purpose, never furthering their cause.

She was beyond all this. She had only her memories and sorrow. She wouldn’t let them count her as their victim. She was here. She had not let them win.

This was her defiance.


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Copyright The Storyteller’s Abode

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

Influenced by events in Manchester this week, my thoughts are with all involved, especially those children and parents affected by this devastating and abhorrent act.

Z IS FOR ZEBRA

The sun shone on Oslo, the signs of Spring finally showing. There was warmth in the sun and families sat on picnic rugs and played games on the grass. Sand and Gabi walked along the path. Gabi’s arm was still in a sling. The bruises and swelling on Sand’s face had receded. He moved stiffly with two broken ribs and the stitches in his shoulder.

It had been a week since Sand had been picked up from the yacht. Dag Moen was missing presumed dead. In the stormy sea the chances of anyone being able to swim back to shore were zero. In the sub-zero temperatures he would have frozen to death in less than a minute.

‘He stole the yacht as part of his plan?’ Gabi asked. Sand hadn’t been back to work yet. Although they had spoken briefly on the ‘phone, it was her first chance to get the full story.

Sand nodded. ‘It was supposed to be his getaway, I think. He should have killed me on the whaler and then got away before anyone missed me. They found the owner of the yacht in his apartment. Moen had followed him home one night, broken into his place and left him tied up in the closet. Took the keys for his yacht.’

‘He was lucky to get away alive. If Moen was evil or insane, why didn’t he kill him too?’

‘Nothing is black and white,’ Sand said. ‘I’m not convinced he was pure evil. There was motive to what he was doing, and he had a plan that made sense in his reality. I was the target all along.’ Continue reading “Z IS FOR ZEBRA”

Y IS FOR YACHT

Sand sprinted as fast as his aching body would carry him along the dock. In the storm he kept losing sight of Moen until the dark was illuminated by a fresh lightning strike and he saw the toiling figure ahead. They ran clear of the hulking whaling ships, now it was private yachts and sailboats that were anchored in a marina, bobbing about on the surf caused by the strong wind.

Moen turned sharply and leapt onto one of the yachts. By the time Sand had drawn level with him he had untied it’s mooring and started the engine. He looked back at Sand as the gap of water between the dock and the yacht grew. Sand could only watch. The sea water would kill him in minutes if he jumped into it, and Sand wasn’t a great swimmer.

Bakke arrived, out of breath. ‘He’s gone,’ he puffed, bending over, hands on knees.

They watched the yacht motor through the harbour. Sand followed the direction it was travelling. ‘It’s never over,’ he said. He left Bakke standing gulping in air as he sprinted along the marina walkway. Continue reading “Y IS FOR YACHT”