Microfiction #writephoto: Waving

This is for Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt.



I can see him at the end of the tunnel, gesticulating, but he is too far away to hear. Part of me wants to run back, ready to forgive. Perhaps he’s changed his mind. Perhaps he’s in trouble. It’s crazy. I know what’s back there, and the only possible escape is down here, deep inside the dark earth. He told me himself, before he threw his fist at me again for something unimportant I’d forgotten to do.

I hesitate, running over in my mind the countless times I have run from him and his anger, yet knowing that he hates himself for it, says it’s like being stuck down a well and nobody can hear him to help him out. I take a step back to the entrance. He’s waving his arms wildly now. His voice is rising—he’s calling my name!

I make up my mind. I’m going back. I shout too, his name, putting into it that one word all the words I want to say, want him to hear. I scream, but nothing hits my ears, deafened by the screech of death. In the blinding light of the explosion, I see him one last time, his arms waving, in farewell.