Memories cannot be thrown away without a splash.
Years of lies and hiding only delayed this desperate race through the woods.
As the man crashes though branches and stumbles over roots, the objects in his sack clang together—several tight-lidded jars, two wands, one ring, and a silver-clasped spellbook.
In another time, a fortune; today, a death sentence.
Reaching the edge of the river, he grips the sack in both hands and flings it as far as he can, hoping his pursuers cannot hear the splash.
As the last bubbles float up and pop, he whispers goodbye to the only keepsakes of his mother he had left, then turns and keeps running.
Written for this week’s Five Sentence Fiction challenge.