Sunday, 13 September 2015


The shadows dwarfed as the perspiration beads bathed them.

Stepping into the rusted body, they perched on the edge, “wasn’t Old Pedro’s

disappearance a mystery." 

The drawl evident in Harry's speech. 

His remains were never found. Folklore concluded that the boat was haunted.

"Let's not dig up graves after a hearty repast", Sam said as the spicy curry 

taste still lingered on his tongue.

The abrasive boat long depreciated its value had sunk deeper into the earth. 

The ground beneath them rattled.

"Was it an earthquake or am I drunk?” Harry's pulse rising.

Old Pedro turned in his grave, beneath.

Written for : Friday Fictioneers and photo prompt provided by  Jennifer Pendergast

Friday Fictioneers Farm Path

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