She faced the long line of empty booths, hoping he would spring up from one of them, but knowing he would not. He had stayed on the shores behind her, buried with his fists and the peat and the emerald rain of the country he loved.
Gazing through the ferry windows at her new home, she wondered if she would make friends, or even meet a special man to bring into her life. She wondered if she would tell him how her first love died.
Today’s flash fiction is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, with photo prompt by Ted Strutz. This picture reminded me of the journey via ferry between Holyhead and Ireland. Although my voyage was a happy one, complete with impromptu Irish band, once night fell it was easy to get the lonesome feel of an empty ship.
The Friday Fictioneers strive to produce a 100-word story each week, and you can read more of them right HERE.