Photo © Roger Bultot
The river only flows one way, the saying goes. Yet our people have rowed against this current for generations.
I remember the flotilla leaving: all angry, pre-triumphant cheers. Now the boats move silently, carrying the last of our wealth. Replacement weapons, replacement food, replacement men.
Nothing meaningful returns.
Last night I dreamt I saw him, floating downstream under a sunset sky. False hope, I know. Nobody leaves the siege except by death, and those are buried there, in foreign earth.
Still, I hope. For the river of my heart only flows one way, and to reverse course would break it.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers flash fiction challenge. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting! Click on the link to join in and/or read the other 100-word stories written for this prompt.