FLIGHT
Father said they wouldn’t come this
way, but this morning we could no longer ignore the thunder of guns.
“Ten minutes!” Grandfather roared,
and like hens we scattered, gathering food, clothes, and suddenly precious
things – mother’s mixing bowl, father’s books, my doll – and piled into the
motorcars.
We could actually see the enemy when
we reached the ferry.
“Everyone!” Grandfather ordered, and all, from eighty to eight, hauled on the rough rope, bullets hitting the leather seats to prove that our lives depended on speed.
As Father’s axe cut the rope I cooled
my burning palms in mud. Mother scolded but she was smiling.
...................................................................
My regular readers may recognise this week's photo prompt, taken by Al Forbes, as it was used on Friday Fictioneers last year, but this is a completely new story. If you'd like to read what I wrote before you can find it archived in February 2016.
Thanks to Rochelle @ https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for hosting FF - follow the link on her blog to read many other and vastly different stories.
Oh - and welcome to James, who has become my 100th follower - check out his blog @ http://jthargreaves.blogspot.com/ for longer short stories.