Kit pulled hard on the oars to get the boat over the breakers and kept rowing so the land behind Juliet diminished.
‘What if a ferry comes?’ she said.
‘No one will see,’ said Kit, laying down the oars, kneeling forward to kiss her.
‘I should have brought a blanket…’
Over her shoulder, under the water, he saw something flicker.
He moved away from her and looked over the side.
‘The bottom’s dirty…’
Far below, a light twinkled. A candle? Ridiculous, he thought.
He stood. And drawn to the light, he dived.
‘Kit?’ said Juliet into the empty evening. ‘Kit?’
For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by Doug MacIlroy) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.
And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.
Flora lay on her back with her legs and eyes open. Over the boy’s shoulder, branches and leaves swayed to the rhythm of the sea breeze. She focused on a bright mark on a tree trunk until the boy had finished. It was the afterwards time she did it for, when she could lie with someone’s arms around her.
Later, after she had taken the boy and his tattoos home to shock her father, she returned to the tree and hacked at the bright spot with a penknife until what had been hidden there dropped into her palm.
For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture (this time supplied by John Nixon) is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s amazing stories or to join in. And please comment below with any suggestions for improvement on mine.
“Wow,” he said, still out of breath as he rolled off her. “That really blew my mind. Fireworks or what!” He put his arm around her. “Did the earth move for you too?” All she felt was overwhelming disappointment. He hadn’t kissed her sloppily, or undressed her as if he was a hungry puppy, like the last boyfriend. He had been loving and patient, and although she hadn’t reached that elusive orgasm, it had gone well, for a first time. But she knew already she wouldn’t be seeing him again. His use of clichés was positively indecent.
This piece of writing was inspired by the picture prompt provided by Lora Mitchell for the Friday Fictioneers writing group run by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We all attempt to write 100 words (or so) and this week I’m slightly under. Although Rochelle asked us to suggest the genre in our title, I prefer, at least in these short pieces for people to make up their own mind. So, literary fiction? humour? erotica? You tell me…
I’d love to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s stories inspired by this picture or to join in.