The Windlass of Time

A hundred words for those who are still left and for those who have gone before, based on the photo prompt below. We walk in the shadows of giants. D-Day. June 6th, 1944.

 

(Copyright C. Hase)

 

 

A stooped and wizened man stands behind a bench at the end of a pier, supporting himself with both hands as he watches liberty boats ferry passengers to the beach from a cruise ship anchored offshore. Long years have extinguished everything in his life except the fire in his eyes. Through them he sees soldiers in a maelstrom struggling in crimson surf beneath a dull gray sky.

A car backfires and he flinches, then squares his shoulders and turns to walk resolutely inshore, sure that today will be his last. Another day, another turn of the wheel. Maybe tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

Yank Thou

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below.

 

 (Copyright Melanie Greenwood)

Early Wednesday morning. The courtyard was empty. Queen Elise, in Tyrian purple, sat poised on her throne. Her kingdom spanned the known world and many imaginary ones but she had no staff save for some reprobate jesters and old Reverend Spooner, her herald. Another week was about to start.

The hour arrived. The courtyard filled. Reverend Spooner quieted the room and spoke to the assembled throng.

“On this, the second anniversary of her coronation, please join me in offering a heartfelt three chairs for our queer old Dean!”

Elise sighed, then smiled. At least Russell hadn’t called her that yet.

 

 

Queen Elise and the Reverend Spooner