#flashfiction
The boat floated gently down the river, a black hooded figure at the
tiller. I did not know where I was. The misty evening air was soaking through
my shirt. I could see my breath, but the only light came from the ferryman’s
lamp.
“Where does this
river take us?” I asked. I received no reply. The bony hand did not even move
from the handle. I looked down at my own hands, and saw for the first time that
they were bound in thick, black rope.
“Who are you?” I
asked. I received a shake of the head this time, as if to say that it was of no
significance.
“Where are we going?”
I asked, getting louder now. If I shouted, maybe someone from the shore might
hear?
“Wrong question,”
said the figure finally. It’s voice was as black as smoke, hoarse from decades
of neglect.
“What is the right
question?” I asked once more, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
“The question you
should be asking,” said the figure with a bronchial delivery, “Is why?”
His hand lifted to
point behind me. Shaking as he raised his finger, I followed it to the shore,
where a jetty was waiting. A flaming torch lit the way, and deep in the forest
I could hear the sound of drums…
* * *
Do you want to see your flash fiction on StoryWorld? Send
along as .doc or .rtf to info@storyworld.org.uk
and you could see your story on our featured ‘Flash Fiction Friday’ post.
Stories should under 300 words, of any genre and not be overly offensive.
Include a brief (under 30 words) biog, and don’t forget to include web and
social media addresses so fans can get in touch. Sorry if we can’t reply to
your submission, but if you haven’t heard back within six weeks, we won’t be
able to use your story.
Image: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/ilco
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