The girl huddles in the outhouse, humming softly. Her tormentor lies across the doorway, a line of dried blood snaking from his ear.
Behind him, she’s watched the world turn for days. Clouds have passed, birds fluttered by and insects buzzed lazily, drawn by the corpse before her.
The bread and cheese he’d brought that day is almost gone, the water-pail empty.
Cowbells tinkle in the valley; a tractor roars. Help could be close…or possibly something even more sinister.
Wearily she steps over her jailer, and stumbles towards his cottage to find food. Then she’ll decide.
But she never does.
Friday Fictioneers meets on Wednesday, why wouldn’t it? Last week there were over a hundred of us, so why not join us. Thanks once again to Rochelle – hope you’re bearing up under this increased traffic. 🙂