Photo credit: Susanne Nilsson
Martal stared at another sunrise. How many had he seen, from this exact hill, over that exact bay? Too many to admit. All the same.
When she first left, it took everything Martal had to emulate the sun. Get up every day, do what must be done, collapse. Not bothering anyone, not asking for help. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Now his cheeks were tired from all that not-laughing, his arms weak from not-hugging, his legs old from not-dancing.
He turned, faced the village. Surely he could find someone there waiting to be bothered. Someone who could use his help.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge. Thanks go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting, and for Lucy Fridkin for providing the original phooto prompt, below. Click here to read the other stories for this photo.
Photo © Lucy Fridkin