1 August 2014

Tell This Story: Blind

I find these visual prompts really useful when I'm in a bit of a slump with my main stories. It helps to write something completely stand-alone and seperate from anything else you're doing. 

My short interpretation is under the cut, but if you write something yourself from this post it (or a link to it) in the comments so I can have a read!









“Just stay quiet. I think it’s blind.” 

Luca’s words come in a breath, so soft it barely carries across the mere centimetres between us. I grip his hand tighter and feel his fingers twitch in fear. I press my back harder into the side of the boat as if hoping to sink into the wood and disappear, dragging Luca and myself out of the vicinity of whatever looms over the shallow water. 

I try to focus on the way the reeds shift gently in the breeze in front of me, and not the heavy puffs of breath and the low, throaty rumbling from behind. Ripples lap at our legs as something huge shifts the water, so close now I can feel a scream lodged in my windpipe. The lantern, our only weapon against the night fog, sends scattered light bouncing across the water as it sways on its beam, the boat rocking gently with the movement of the tide. I sink my free hand into the mud and grip at the sea bed. My legs tingle with numbness from the chill of the water enveloping our lower halves. 

Is it moving closer, or further away? It sounds so huge, so impossibly huge. We shouldn’t have come out this late, but Luca had seemed so confident it seemed ridiculous to think there was anything to fear. Any reason to bury deeper under the blankets and wait for the weak light of dawn to struggle through the grimy windows of our hut. 

Mother will know we were missing soon. She rises early to start her chores, but always checks in on us before beginning. Seeing that we’re not in our beds she will rouse Father in a panic, insisting that he search for us. There will be a hunting party over the water flats, more boats and lanterns and men for the beast to devour. I shudder, clamping my eyes shut and praying pointlessly to open them again and be back home.

They might think us stolen, snatched from our beds in the night by the mud pirates that plague our village when the tides are low. A lifetime in the servitude of pirates seems more appealing than these endless minutes spent hiding from the creature. Or perhaps they will think us fled, attempting escape from the grey, gloomy existence of the mud flats. Mother will cry at either thought, and clutch our new baby sister to her breast in despair. Father will not shed tears, but bellow orders to the villagers to search until we are found.

I fear our bones may be all they discover, unless the beast prefers to swallow his meals whole.

I pray Luca is right. I pray the demon that lurks on the flats is blind, and will move away back to whatever hell it came from. I pray for our return home before we are missed, before more people are sent out to their doom…

“Get ready to run.”




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