Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for organising this flash fiction challenge, as always, and to Penny Gadd for the photo prompt. I took this one fairly literally, because it stirred up some lovely memories of carefree childhood moments that I was trying to capture with my story.
Every spring it was harder to slither under the tangled branches.
What was that splash? Not one of Them, with their interminable lectures on Being Sensible and Not Coming Home With Your Clothes Ruined Every Single Day? No, just the moorhen. All safe.
Home again. Maybe later the others would come. Maybe they’d go on a life-or-death mission behind enemy lines. Maybe they’d maintain a siege against the armies of Them, or dig for gold in ancient tombs. Or maybe they’d just go paddling.
Billy settled into his branch, the one that overhung the water, and watched the moorhen build her nest.
Click HERE for other responses.