Friday Fictioneers: The River
For Friday Fictioneers, Madison Woods‘ 100-word picture prompt challenge.
The old man, frail, balding, his hair thin and white. He is as old as the river he now sits beside. He stares at his reflection in the thin low river. The river sits low, for it had been a long time since it rained, and so it sits still. Afraid that any movement would perish all in its belly, and life would flow out, onto the parched dry banks. Its banks wait, patiently for rain knowing that if the skies do not open, the roots that crawl beneath will reach out further, potruding through, plunging its thirsty arms, claiming all life within the river. The bird gets stuck on the leafless tree. And then a flash of lightning cracked, a whip through the sky, the thunder rolled. The old man on the bank waits beside his river for the rain, that will now come a-pouring. Bird unstuck, Flying. And Life began again.