Short Fiction #34 Emily
Emily strolled along the riverbank. The breeze teased her golden hair, covering her face and tickling her nose. She brushed it aside. Finding a sunny spot she sat on the grass. It felt as soft as her woollen blanket at home. Rolling on to her stomach she cupped her chin in her hands. Two ducks swam closer. They softly quacked an enquiry of her, but they quickly realised that no food scraps would be coming, so they just flopped down on the sand nearby.
The warm sun on her back was soothing. Her eyelids drooped. Soon her head was cradled on her arm. Sleep drifted in stealthily.
An hour passed.
Emily woke groggily.
Something was wrong.
As she tried to sit up she realised the problem. All feeling had disappeared in her hand, her arm. The sudden rush of blood brought a painful prickling throughout her arm. She rolled over letting the circulation bring and end to her discomfort. A passing cloud shrouded the sunlight from her face. The air chilled quickly and she shivered.
She sat up. Her hand felt her forehead. The creamy white substance now covered her fingers. She screwed up her face in disgust as she looked skywards.
â€œYou dirty, filthy sea gull!â€ she yelled.
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Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel.