Friday, 15 April 2011

Flash Fiction #5: The Flood

Soaked from head to toe, she bites back tears as she walks through the town. People look up from their candles as she passes them, their midnight vigil interrupted by the half-drowned girl and her own grief. Freezing cold and dripping wet, even though the night is warm.

She can't help but think of the river and it's more than she can bear; a moan escapes her shaking lips. The night air gasps at this breaking of the silence, but she doesn't see the wide, baleful stares of the candle-holders - she sees nothing but the ground before her, nothing but the desperate instinct that keeps putting one foot in front of the other. If she could find it in herself to run, she would. But the best she can do is walk.  Away from the past, and the water.

The entire city stands in mourning, silently bowing their heads in prayer, and for a moment the girl feels like one of the many ghosts they are ushering into the next life.

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