ICE

 

ICE

‘Let’s go camping,’ he said.

‘In winter?’

‘Warm sleeping bags, a fire under the stars, it’ll be romantic.’

It was easier to agree – he always got his own way eventually.

.... 

I woke to the sound of a growl and shook him awake. ‘Bears!’

He peered through the flap. ‘Can’t see anything.’

‘There it is again – I’m scared.’

He went out, determined to prove this mere female wrong, and slipped on the ice.

As the huge mouth closed around his body I ran for the car.

 ....

True as I’m stood here.

'In a jail cell?'

Unfortunately the cops don’t believe me.

................................................................................

Thanks as ever to Rochelle for running Friday Fictioneers, and to Roger Bultot for the photographic prompt. I've revived an old story for this week as I missed last week's FF, but I'm busy compiling a poetry book and subbing a novel, and my brain can't cope with too much at once these days!