Sunday Photo Fiction 4-4-2017

Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.

196-04-april-2nd-2017

© A Mixed Bag

He could just make out the roof of the house, the stark white of the barn, the lighthouse beyond. If he could see them, they could see them, but would they?

“Daddy?” Strawberry blonde curls tangling in the wind.

“Yes?” He looked down.

“When is Mommy coming back?”

God, it broke his heart. “Never, baby.”

She started to cry and he knelt, folding her into his arms.

“I’m not going to leave you, Baby. Never, never, ever.”

“Ever?” asked her tiny tear-filled voice.

“Never,” he promised, knowing he was lying, but lying had become his life. How else could he keep her safe, keep his promise?

He rose, holding her in his arms, walking back along the trail which led, eventually, to the house. Hopefully, a safe house, at least for the time.

What do you want for dinner?”

“Pancakes!”

He laughed. “Then chocolate chip pancakes it is.”

“Stuffed full!”

“Stuffed full,” he replied, hiding his own tears.

“I love you, Daddy.”

A hesitation. A catch. “I love you, too, baby. I love you, too.”

He hoped, for today, that would be enough.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

 Late but who cares:)

photo-20160807074033992This photo prompt is provided by Yinglan.

The Soccer Ball

Sammy had  never played soccer before, but he was anxious to give it a try. The way his folks were, he’d sit inside a plastic bubble for the rest of his life, protected from the hate and unhappiness and general muckiness of the world. If he had his way, he’d be out rolling in the dirty (which carried disease), climbing the highest trees (from which he might fall and break his neck), riding his Uncle’s horses (from which he might also fall and, at least, break a leg and which also carried disease.)

On the field, the boys stopped, looked. He looked back. A long detente between the status that was and the status which wanted to be. Finally one of the boys held up the soccer ball.

“Wanna play?” he asked, light brown hair falling into his eyes. “We could use another.”