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.
Mysterious and poignant.
The Black Widow strikes.
Dear karen,
I have so missed your excellent stories. I’m glad to see you again, even if only for a bit.
This was beautiful, haunting, sad and happy, just like life. Wonderful tale, expertly told.
Aloha,
Doug
Well, I for one would like to know how her first one died! Foul play, I imagine, even though our heroine is so wistful, as if she misses him…
haunting and beautiful. i felt how much she misses him.
Hmmm…with his fists, very interesting. Very evocative tale, and you always leave me wanting to know more.
Haunting story that leave me wondering… how her husband did die? “With his fists…” I’ve never heard this, but really like it! Such a melancholy feel, and the islands… Nice job!
Quite a few layers to this story … well done.
Dear Karen,
So nice to see you here. On second read of this story, I find myself wondering how he died…the mention of his fists…was there foul play? Nonetheless, beautifully layered and well written.
shalom,
Rochelle
PS. Yes, I’m still reading and commenting on them all. ;)
This is a very intriguing piece, multilayered and well written. I am left with more questions than answers leaving me wanting for more. Ferries have a way of bringing out the romance and the mystery, the dark and light of the deep waters they cross. Lovely.
Very well told ferry ride. I think buried with his fists pretty much tells the tale. Nice.
Wait… then you wrote hoping he would spring up>/i>… there is a lot going on. She really loved him… just had too much abuse, I think.
Oops
What a beautiful story, with a great touch of mystery at the end. I love a story that leaves you wondering. :)
This is poignantly written, Karen. :-)
Love love love!
Bittersweet and well done. Good job.
A tale so often repeated. Love how you describe his love of the land. Peat and emerald rain – that sounds like the Ireland I have read about
Dear Karen,
What a sad snap-shot of time. He’s gone, but not forgotten. Thankfully, she’s looking to the future and moving on.
Sometimes sad happenings lead to a better tomorrow and I hope she finds a better man this time:-)A beautifully written piece with lots of possibilities-like most am curious too about how her first love died-for a cause-fighting for Ireland(emerald rain?)-did he love the country more than her or was it something else-love the mystery:-)