draliman on life

It’s that time of the week again – Friday Fictioneers time!

Every week a bunch of us write 100 words (or thereabouts)  in response to a photo prompt, which this week has been supplied by Erin Leary. The talented Rochelle is our host – why don’t you give it a go?

This week’s other entries can be found by clicking here.

This is something a bit different from me this week. There’s no humour and nobody dies horribly (sort of). I’m not sure I like it, it makes me melancholy. Hey ho 🙂

Copyright Erin Leary

The river flowed sluggishly through the lowland fields beneath the weak light of a watery sun. It had been birthed high in the mountains. It would become part of the great water.

In its travels it saw many things. Trees and grasslands. Mountains and plains. Four-legged beasts and man-things.

Its waters ran red now, red with the blood of many man-things upstream. The river cared little for such things. It was forever. It was constant.

The man-things were temporary. Inconsequential.

The river understood this as it flowed indifferent to Man’s inhumanity toward Man, continuing its long journey to the sea.