Photo credit: Ninad Chaudhari
Every morning I watched Ajač take his father’s cart to the fields, empty. Every night he headed back, his cart laden with gourds, the wheels and oxen’s hooves cutting deeper into the wet sand.
Last week he didn’t return. I found the cart, half-submerged under the tide, the gourds scattered, floating. No oxen. No Ajač.
Some bones washed up. Not all of them.
Ajač took the beach path to avoid the road’s dangers. He might have fared better against human thieves.
I helped his father salvage what remained, but I won’t get that close to the water again. Not alone.
Word count: 100. Inspired by this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo challenge. Thanks as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting! And also to Janet Webb for this week’s photo prompt, below. Click here to see the other stories.
Photo © Janet Webb