Microfiction: Dark dawn

Since a few people asked for a sequel to the story I wrote for Sonya’s latest three line tales, I’ve used Sue Vincent’s photo for this week’s #writephoto prompt and done it. The first part is here.


Dawn is breaking and I don’t want to see what it will bring. The hammering of the waves has drowned the screams of the dying, and I dread the light that will show what is waiting for us, the handful of survivors huddled in the cave beneath the sea wall. Smugglers must have used it once, but since the things came out of the sea, no vessels have dared brave what lies beyond the harbour wall. Dawn, purple and red fills the sky, red the waves that lap the black rocks. Red the flames that leap from the city, reflected in the yellow reptilian eyes that stare into ours.

We shrink back into the darkness. A woman pushes her child into the narrow black hole that the cave dwindles to, and follows after. She gets stuck. Two men try to pull her out. She struggles, screaming. The great heads with their yellow, malevolent eyes lunge. I am mesmerized, caught in their glare, until they blot out the light of the rising sun and I plunge, diving past the stink of ancient oceans, the grey green barnacle encrusted scales, into the churning water, and I swim, leaving the trap behind me.

I swim, buffeted by mountains of flesh, until my lungs are bursting and my vision is as red as the water, and when I break surface again, the whole world is red. Flames consume the city, blood stains the water of the harbour, and all I can do is swim into the face of the sun until weariness drags me into the arms of oblivion.