Throughout that relentless summer, Edward queued daily at the town’s only well, ostentatiously drawing less water than others.
“Let the children have my share,” he’d say, piously. Yet alone on his land, he drank greedily from a sparkling crystal stream, newly-emerged from the upper pasture.
As time passed, he learned to avert his gaze from the hosts of amorphous, silvery creatures who congregated there each night, repulsed by the sagging mouths that moved continually in silent screams.
With the first snows, the stream vanished.
And Edward realised, raising his silver-scaled hands to his scream-less mouth, that nothing ever comes free.
Lovely photo this week from our own Dale Rogerson. Thanks to Rochelle for enabling the Friday Fictioneers to grow and prosper. 🙂 If anyone fancies joining us in this 100 word endeavour in response to a photo each week, click on the link.