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.