JOINT WINNER,
SIDERIUS LONGER FLASH FICTION
COMPETITION, 2024
SIDERIUS LONGER FLASH FICTION
COMPETITION, 2024
He planned to sleep under the driest arch of the bridge that night, but as he approached, he could see someone already there. A girl, huddled in a thick blue hooded anorak. Fourteen? Maybe fifteen?
Seeing him, she clutched a tartan rucksack tightly to her chest and glared, fear and defiance written large upon her face. There was something else, too. Something he recognised from long ago. It was the hunted, desperate look which he’d seen on his mother’s face when she’d endured one beating too many from his step-father. The night she’d thrown herself into the river. The night his childhood ended, and his street life began.
He paused, considering what to do. This river was all too close; the girl, all too vulnerable. Finally, keeping his distance, he spoke.
‘Don’t be afraid of me. I am going to cross to the other bank and put the river between us. I won’t come near you, but will be there to see that no-one else does, either.’
The girl said nothing. Just clutched her rucksack even tighter.
He backed off, made a wide circle round to cross the bridge, and settled himself with his camping light under the leaky arch opposite. The broad, deep river ran darkly between them. She watched him; wary, alert. She also watched the water swirling under the bridge. He read temptation in her eyes.
He reached into his backpack, drew out a small, wooden flute, and began to play. The tone was mellow, and he played the notes just loud enough to reach her. He played a gentle song of hope, followed by a soothing melody of trust and friendship. He saw the hunted look slowly recede; she relaxed a little. He carried on playing softly until exhaustion overcame her, and she slept.
While he watched over her, he listened to the radio. Police were searching for a known sex offender who had befriended a widow and sexually abused her teenage daughter. The girl had fled when her mother, not knowing the man’s background, had accused her of making it all up to get attention. The frantic voice of a woman sobbed out a plea for the girl to forgive her and come back home. The officer described the missing girl as blonde, wearing jeans and a blue anorak, and carrying a tartan rucksack.
He took out his phone and made the call.
On his advice, the car had approached without lights or sirens so as not to startle the girl into doing anything drastic. Nevertheless, some disturbance in the air must have reached her, for she woke with a start, bolted upright and shot a look across the river. The man who made the beautiful music was no longer alone. Two police officers stood near him and there, face streaked with tears, trembling hands stretched towards her and eyes pleading, was……….
Clambering up, she staggered across the bridge and straight into her mother’s arms.
Seeing him, she clutched a tartan rucksack tightly to her chest and glared, fear and defiance written large upon her face. There was something else, too. Something he recognised from long ago. It was the hunted, desperate look which he’d seen on his mother’s face when she’d endured one beating too many from his step-father. The night she’d thrown herself into the river. The night his childhood ended, and his street life began.
He paused, considering what to do. This river was all too close; the girl, all too vulnerable. Finally, keeping his distance, he spoke.
‘Don’t be afraid of me. I am going to cross to the other bank and put the river between us. I won’t come near you, but will be there to see that no-one else does, either.’
The girl said nothing. Just clutched her rucksack even tighter.
He backed off, made a wide circle round to cross the bridge, and settled himself with his camping light under the leaky arch opposite. The broad, deep river ran darkly between them. She watched him; wary, alert. She also watched the water swirling under the bridge. He read temptation in her eyes.
He reached into his backpack, drew out a small, wooden flute, and began to play. The tone was mellow, and he played the notes just loud enough to reach her. He played a gentle song of hope, followed by a soothing melody of trust and friendship. He saw the hunted look slowly recede; she relaxed a little. He carried on playing softly until exhaustion overcame her, and she slept.
While he watched over her, he listened to the radio. Police were searching for a known sex offender who had befriended a widow and sexually abused her teenage daughter. The girl had fled when her mother, not knowing the man’s background, had accused her of making it all up to get attention. The frantic voice of a woman sobbed out a plea for the girl to forgive her and come back home. The officer described the missing girl as blonde, wearing jeans and a blue anorak, and carrying a tartan rucksack.
He took out his phone and made the call.
On his advice, the car had approached without lights or sirens so as not to startle the girl into doing anything drastic. Nevertheless, some disturbance in the air must have reached her, for she woke with a start, bolted upright and shot a look across the river. The man who made the beautiful music was no longer alone. Two police officers stood near him and there, face streaked with tears, trembling hands stretched towards her and eyes pleading, was……….
Clambering up, she staggered across the bridge and straight into her mother’s arms.
