Night Walk

Spooky Moon

(Photo credit: rcbodden)

Flash Fiction Friday: Spooky Moon

NIGHT WALK

She gripped her elbows. The sound of her heels shouting out her frustration against the pavement in a rapid chorus of retreat and anger. Dammit! She was tired of fighting. 

The chill of the night air moved through her thin, silk blouse. She folded her arms in closer rubbing her hands up and down for warmth as the moon disappeared behind the clouds. Darkness fell on her like a veil. Footsteps echoed and chills crawled up her spine. She turned, trembling, to face the shadows of the night. “Hello?”

Home

old-wallpaper-mary-shipman

Photo Credit : Madison Woods/Friday Fictioneers

HOME

The musty smell assaulted her senses. Dust flew in every direction as she pulled the crumbling wallpaper, in bits and pieces from the frame of the old farmhouse. She coughed until her lungs burned, forcing her outside for fresh air.

Everyone thought she was crazy to buy this house, but she’d fallen in love the minute she saw it’s beautiful wrap-around porch and winding staircase.

She ran her fingers over the aged walls and the outline of pictures that hung decades ago. Love and laughter resonated through her hand, and she knew it would again. She was home.


Morning Mist

MORNING MIST

The mud fell from his boot as he hoisted himself into the saddle, the rope in his hand hitting the side of his leg. This was his favorite time of day, early. He loved the quiet stillness of morning as he rode through the pasture. He’d noticed a break in the fence earlier, and needed to make sure everything was okay.

The morning mist glinted like diamonds on the grass as the sun, barely over the horizon, kissed the grass and the time of gentle awakening of all God’s creatures began, with a kick of his spur.

The Excursion

Unable to meet the deadline for this Photo Flash Fiction, I thought I’d share it with my readers and fellow writers. Enjoy.

 

 

THE EXCURSION

Shivering, she pulled her sweater tighter. Why had she agreed to take this God-forsaken trip?

“Let’s go back, rekindle things. I know we can be happy again,” he said, squeezing harder. She tried not to wince as his fingers dug into her arms. His eyes told her not to argue. She looked down and let him pull her stiffened body against his, hating herself.

The first time here, she’d been an enraptured bride caught up in him and the romantic setting. The excursion into the river, with its hint of danger, added fuel to their desire.

His back muscles tensed with each row, and she remembered the alligators, how he’d laughed at her, rocking the canoe, teasing her, stopping only after she screamed. Blinded by love, she’d been oblivious to the red flag waving, day three of their honeymoon.

She watched as the first alligator eased into the water and wondered what his plan was today. He glanced over his shoulder smiling, a glint breaking the blackness of his eyes.

He just thought he was in control. She stood, bracing her feet against the sides of the canoe, pulled the object from under her sweater, and began rocking.