The Last Photograph

He looked at the picture again. The last picture his wife had taken before she had been murdered. The beach looked grayish, but that might only have been the dark clouds in the sky throwing shadows. In the background, the giant stone sculpture loomed, carrying the bridge on his back. Had she climbed to that bridge? Had she stayed down on the beach?

All he knew was that the body had been washed ashore a few beaches further downstream, a camera slung around her neck. Somehow they had retrieved the photographs, but they weren’t consoling him.

She would forever be lost to him now. The grainy photograph the last memory of her. Her vacation to get some time alone to think.

He wondered what she had really been doing there.

Suddenly his phone rang.

“Your time is running out. Soon you will join your wife in hell.”

He knew that voice, he realised with a start, but it was too late. He screamed as the blade buried itself into his back.

© 2016

FFfAW, Week of 05-03-2016

Photo prompt provided by momtheobscure

12 thoughts on “The Last Photograph

  1. How sad to be standing at the beach where your wife is killed and mourning and contemplating her loss when you are murdered too! I don’t think he saw that coming! Great story Felecia! I enjoyed reading it.

    Liked by 1 person

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