Friday Fictioneers 2-11-2017



The chair sat alone, awash on the thin line between water and shore. Most days, he’d sit in the chair for hours; not fishing, just watching. ‘Drinking in the peace,’ he’d told her once.

Once hadn’t been enough. She wanted him back. In the chair. Drinking in peace. Bringing her peace by being there. But he wasn’t; he wouldn’t be ever again.

Walking to the chair, she tossed skyward the contents of the small metal box in her hands. Watched the ashes scatter in the wind, wash away in the swift current.

Now, she was the one alone.

Sunday Photo Fiction – January 31th 2017

“Is this some weird ball game?” she asked, watching the floating balls trailing behind the ship.“No,” Brad laughed. “They’re floats. We use them to mark the location of…. well, anything really. Dive sites. Lobster traps. Crab pots.”

“In other words, the yellow sticky notes of the water world.”

“Exactly. I knew there was some reason I wanted to date you. I love pretty smartypantes.”

She slapped his shoulder. “So, what are we up to today?”

“Cozy island. Picnic lunch. Beach blanket.”

Something swirled under the boat, rocking it side to side.

“What was that?”

“You’ll see.” He nosed the boat into a small island cove, lowered the anchor and shut down the engines.

Grabbing a bucket of fish, he moved starboard, tossing a few into the water. A dark shape rose towards the surface. The fish vanished. A snout tipped above the waterline as Brad lifted another fish above his head. The rest of a reptile-like head followed, taking the fish gently, then rising to tower above them, long neck arcing gracefully down.

“Oh my God…is that….?”

“This time,” he said, holding out the bucket, “you feed him.”

Eyes wide with wonder, she held up a fish.