The Boat

Note: Today I tried a writing exercise where you use a photo prompt and write a short story as close to 100 words as possible. It will become immediately obvious that I used the photo as very loose inspiration. Enjoy.

They had been at it all day and had only gotten a few bites.

Henry reeled in his line to check the hook. As he suspected, the bait had been nibbled away. Swearing under his breath, he reached into the jar for another wriggling nightcrawler.

“Maybe we need to try somewhere else?” Sarah suggested, but floated it as a hesitant question. She came on these trips more for the peace and quiet, but now Henry’s darkening mood was beginning to scare her.

“We’ve already tried all the damn coves in this fucking place,” Henry grumbled.

Suddenly the boat felt dangerously small as he put down his pole and yanked hard on the motor’s pull chord.


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The Walk

Rain started to fall.

Softly at first, in such a way that she didn’t notice until the ground was already damp and smelling like musty clothes, mothballs, and partially rotting leaves.

She quickened her pace, pumped her arms faster.

Halos appeared around streetlights, like perched angels guiding her way home.

Light reflected off the pavement, creating a warm glow.

Water soaked through her cotton sweatshirt and made contact with her skin.

She could see her breath now, every exhale snuffed out as quickly as it was born.

Her shoes squelched on the pavement, over grass, in and around puddles.

She realized her head had been bent over in an effort to shield her face.

She looked up and broke into a run.

Hands formed into fists.

Her hood flew back.

Droplets streamed down her face. Into her eyes. Over her cheeks.

She took the concrete steps two at a time.

In one fluid motion, she extended her hand, grasped the doorknob, turned, and shoved.

She was home.

 

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The Tulip Fields

There was a storm brewing; they were on borrowed time.

But they were on a mission.

The troops were already fatigued and in low spirits when they arrived on the battlefield. The General and Officer oversaw the unloading and packing of gear and made sure there were enough rations on hand, then they set off.

They trudged through muddy trenches and seemingly endless fields. The icy winds whipped around them and tugged at their uniforms. It was hard to take in the natural beauty of their surroundings from under the weight of their collective burden.

Barely halfway to the rendezvous point, two of the weakest soldiers began to break down. There were flashbacks, tears, and one even collapsed in a mud puddle of despair.

There was brief talk of deserting the fallen solider. Perhaps another unit would take her on.

Enough! barked the General. We never leave a solider behind! On my count, heave!

There was no other option- she was carried by the General herself. Later, she’d receive a bronze star for her heroism (The General, not the solider).

More began to fall, and again, they were carried. It began to feel overwhelming. They didn’t think they could go on. Some were pressing to turn back, scrap the mission.

No. We’ve come too far. We’ve sacrificed too much!

Their objective was clear – keep going.

The General ordered the Officer to break out and distribute a portion of the rations, which were to be eaten during the march. There was to be no stopping. Delaying the arrival at the rendezvous point could prove a foolish mistake.

The hard tack revived the troops. They kept marching with renewed vigor, even loud, boisterous whoops of hope and joy.

And then, through the clouds, they could see it. Their destination. A warm welcome, fresh food and water awaited them.

They had made it, and they lived to fight another day. (The return journey back to their transport would be another story, of course.)

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