He bent down on the wooden planks, his old bones creaking as he leaned towards the shoes.
The material was a faded grey, washed far too many times. He remembered wanting to throw them out. He almost had, he remembered smiling. But then she’d begged him. Pleaded with her wide emerald green eyes that he couldn’t resist. She had the same eyes as her mother.
Slowly, he sat down, the shoes still in his hand. He stared out into the garden.
The old swing set, slightly moving in the cold morning air. How many times he’d pushed her. Higher and higher. She’d always been adventurous. Always in search of new things to know and to do. He’d always thought a thirst for knowledge was better than climbing the sides of mountains. So he’d let her be the journalist she’d always dreamed of being.
Of course she couldn’t just be the kind to write about the local life. She had to get out there. War journalism was far more up her alley.
“Come back inside, darling. Maybe it’s not even her.” His wife put a light hand on his shoulder.
He looked at her and held the shoes up. “She left these behind.”
©2018, FFftPP Week #41
Photo from August MorgueFIle 2018 1415390688o66bl
“Bad things happen and then they’re over, but where do they go?”
-Megan Abbott, The Fever
“Good writers know that crime is an entre into telling a greater story about character. Good crime writing holds up a mirror to the readers and reflects in a darker light the world in which they live.”
“Indecision is the key to flexibility.”
“There was nothing more dangerous than people convinced of their own good intentions.”
She was walking down the street, whistling to herself. Night had fallen quickly, but she was almost home. She threw her head back and stared at the sky. Stars were sprinkled across it randomly, but it was as though a thousand eyes were watching her, smiling down at her. She smiled back.
She turned off the street and entered the woods. She didn’t usually like the forest much, but it was only a short walk and faster than taking the long way around. Today, however, she felt strong and confident.
Suddenly, she felt something curl around her wrist, then she was yanked backwards. Her mouth opened in shock. This was not how the night was supposed to end.
It was so dark; she only saw the silhouette of a tall man. Then she felt the shove right before she tumbled backwards onto the ground. The twigs snapped beneath her and her hands hurt as she caught herself. She tried to push herself up.
All of a sudden something hurtled through the air and she felt the force of the blow right before she blacked out.
The sounds were the first to return. She thought she heard soft scuttling and was reminded of the time her little sister kept a pet mouse and hid it in her room. The same panic as back then shot through her now. She hated small animals, as her sister had perfectly well known.
As feeling returned to her limbs, she realized the ground beneath her was hard and uneven. It reminded her of the few times she’d gone camping with her family. The smell of dirt filled the air. Normally, she would have inhaled this and thought summer was almost here, but all she felt now was dread. Where was she?
When her eyes finally opened, everything was black.
“Pain is very useful. It warns you of danger, teaches you of hazards and provides consequences for your actions.”
-Lisa Gardner, Fear Nothing
“Hope for the best, plan for the worst.”
I looked down at the tiny cars way down below. They were so far away, they almost looked like toy cars. I sighed and turned back into the room hundreds of floors above.
“You sure you want to do this?”
The man opposite me nodded solemnly. He was down on one knee, looking at me with pleading eyes.
“I can’t do this no more.”
I stared into his sea green eyes, wishing I could tell him not to do this, telling him to go back home to his wife and pretend like nothing had happened.
Slowly, I raised my right arm and pointed the gun somewhere between those eyes. There was no way I could let him do that and he knew it.
Silently, the bullet tore threw his body.
When I turned back to the window to look down, the two cars were gone.
Sunday Photo Fiction, October 22nd 2017
“The world is chaos, punctuated by brief outbreaks of civilisation.”
-Kyle Mills, The Survivor