On this election Sunday, I’m afraid there isn’t much chance of thinking about anything else. This is for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt
From the safety of the forest eaves they peered out into the morning, calm and misty blue after the night of storms. The strand stretched shiny-smooth to the distant breakers, their rise and fall the only movement in the stillness. Though they strained their ears, all they heard was the distant crash and hiss of the waves.
“Do you see a færing?” Una asked, shading her eyes to search among the dunes for a sign of a beached craft.
Fiachra shook his head. “Too late. We wouldn’t be safe on the ocean in any ship now. See that?” He pointed to the strange trench that curved sinuously across the strand to where it slid into the water to be engulfed by the flow of the tide. “Can’t you smell the stench of corruption?”
Una’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes opened wide in horror. “I thought it was only a nightmare that we left behind with the informers and the outlaws.”
Fiachra gritted his teeth. “It is a nightmare, but it has followed us.”
“It can’t be!”
“It is though. What other loathsome creature would drag itself from the depths to crush the light of hope?”
“Marine,” Una whispered.
Jane Dougherty Writes 