One Afternoon – Fiction

Here’s an entry for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction   hosted by Alistair Forbes.  200 words somehow connected (or not, I guess) to the photograph below.

the shoreOne Afternoon

I don’t know why I keep coming to this beach. Sitting. Remembering.  It was such a bright and sunny day.  The sky was blue.  The air was thick and hot and humid.  There were so many footprints in the sand.  Some of them were yours.

How could you do this to us?  What was so horrible that the love in our little family couldn’t resolve?  As time goes by, what do you want me to tell our boys?  I want to feel grief and loss and sorrow.  Instead,  I feel anger.

“It’s been a year,” my sister, Ivy,  said.

“It has been,”  I agreed.

“And we’re still coming back here every Friday,”  Ivy persisted.

“Yes,” I agreed.

How could you just walk out there and forever away from us?

“There’s nothing you could have done, Colleen.”  Ivy moved closer to me.  She put her hand in mine and squeezed tightly.

I should have known. I should have sensed something.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Colleen,”  Ivy repeated.

I know she’s right, but I don’t believe her.


read other stories/add your link

6 thoughts on “One Afternoon – Fiction

  1. It’s so sad that she is having a hard time moving on. There will probably always be a question in her mind ….why didn’t she notice something was not right, and wondering if there was something she could have done to help.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think a person would wonder those sorts of questions. I hope Colleen will at least stop returning to the beach each week. Thanks for reading this piece, Jessie.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s