Photo credit: Reck Dickhard
I doubt you will ever read this, my dear, but writing keeps me sane.
My nightmares yet plague me: crashing over the falls, our fragile vessel cracking, my companions screaming. With no chance of fulfilling our mission, we seek only escape. Ellass has taken the lead, tramping through this endless jungle, whistling the same three tunes without surcease. It cheers the others, I believe. I calm myself by imagining him falling from a narrow cliff path, or slipping on mossy rocks into the murky waters, or being strangled by predatory vines.
We trudge toward the coast, although each day turns us around. I fear we have made no progress in weeks. Ellass blames the uneven terrain, the detours, the monstrously tall trees. But some weird magic clouds our minds and frazzles our nerves. Strange croaks and howls threaten, tease, ridicule our plight. I long to see the open sea, free under a wide sky instead of hemmed in here. I cast my grappling iron toward any port of safety, any thought that will keep my rudder steady, but it lands dry, catching on no pebble of hope.
I pray nobody followed us. I pray you are well. Remember me fondly.
Word count: 200. Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. Thanks as always to Al Forbes for hosting, and for providing the original photo prompt, below. Click here to see the other stories based on this prompt.
Photo copy Al Forbes / A Mixed Bag
Tales from Eneana 
I like this. The voice is authentic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for the kind comment. I was hoping it would sound a little more Poe / Lovecraft, but I didn’t have much space to do more than hint about the weird horrors of the jungle.
LikeLike
Ooh, I like the twist of being stranded on land. The claustrophobia is real as is any situation that has lingered too long to have turned confining.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, I’m so glad to hear that came across. Yes, I was picturing what it would be like for sailors, used to being on the open sea, or at least the relative freedom of a river, to be trudging through pathless forests and jungles, surrounded on all sides. Plus since this is Eneana, he very well could be right that they are being thwarted by some evil magic!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very atmospheric!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you Joshua, I’m glad that worked!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The sadness is palpable. Poor guy only wants to go to the sea. Another good story from the shores of Eneana.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Al! Yes indeed, he wants to be home, but first, they need to escape this infernal trap of a jungle.
LikeLike
Great idea doing this as a letter. I hope her husband gets back, but I kind of doubt he does.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Amanda! I agree, I don’t have high hopes for this poor man and the rest of his crew.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I really like the first person voice in this narrative. You’ve managed to capture his feelings and fears in language that fits so well. I also love the way you’ve woven the grappling hook into the story. The last sentence is very poignant, although there may yet be a glimmer of hope.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Millie, glad you enjoyed it! I do enjoy imagining how the sayings that people in various groups would use can be tied back to their everyday lives and culture. Here, that a seafaring people would use a metaphor about casting a grappling hook to mean searching for solid answers or for hope.
LikeLike