Terence looked at the girl. She was pretty, in a strange sort of way, her hair untidy across her face, but looking as if it couldn’t have been any different. Nothing could have been different. The swing was still now, an emptiness in the sunlight. Far off, the murmur of voices. Eventually, time would resume, but for now, the whole world was still, the girl’s prettiness just right. He ought to move but he felt drowsy. He ought to move her. Slide her gently into the soft canal. He lay down beside her. Breathing her hair. Feeling good.
This is in response to Matt’s Flash Fiction Foray, which I finally get round to doing again. The prompt was the song, Feeling Good. The story turned out creepier than what I’ve done up to now (though One Green Botttle‘s creepy too, come to think of it.) The photo was taken along the canal from Ely to Cambridge. When I wondered what picture might accompany the post, this one came to mind as just right, so I tweaked the story to include the swing and the sunlight. Thanks to Matt for hosting this event.