It’s been a while since I’ve had the time to write anything in response to any of the Friday Fictioneers’ prompts, as posted by the unflagging Rochelle Wisoffs-Fields. I’ve written several pieces in my head but, sadly, they’ve got no further. Now – hooray! – I have.
The following picture is the prompt. My 100-word story follows. If you’d like to read other people’s stories or to have a go yourself, click here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
He booked us into the only hotel in town. It was too late to take the road up-country, he said.
We sat outside, nursing sundowners long after night’s violet-blackness had overwhelmed the sky. In front of us, a hole in the ground yawned even blacker. That’ll be a swimming pool, he said, when the tourists come – because they will.
I was glad the swimming pool and the tourists were still only a hope. Better to pretend no-one else knew about this place.
Your husband not mind you coming out here, he asked, slunking more gin into our emptying glasses.