They were long gone by the time the police responded to the Coastguard’s summons, slinking into the darkness as the glowing horizon heralded the dawn of a new day, a new life.
Or a new wave of terror, thought Tom, a few miles inland, surveying the huddle in his barn.
“Pliss…” a tiny upturned hand reached out to him.
Nothing ever changes, does it?
He could give succour; or call the authorities.
Or he could simply look the other way.
What was it to be?
It would be a long time before Tom came to terms with his response that day.
I wasn’t particularly enamoured of my last offering for this prompt, Crossing the Bar, so I decided to limber up for the new season of Friday Fictioneers by tackling a new response. It wasn’t as hard as I thought; it’s not as good as I’d hoped. But it’s a start. Before you ask, there is no hidden answer in the flash. The question is for the reader.
Thank you Rochelle, for keeping up the good work in spite of your busy schedule. Looks liked you enjoyed the OWL proceedings. 🙂