Iain Kelly

Mum stopped on the wooden causeway. The wind swept the water over the sides, lapping at our feet.

Through the grey mist, a man stood. He wore a grey fedora and trench coat. Mum put her arms round my shoulders as he approached.

‘You shouldn’t have taken the kid. He might have let you go, but he would never let the kid go with you,’ he said.

‘You think I would let him grow up in that life?’ Mum said.

The man pointed the gun at Mum. ‘Give me the kid and I’ll let you go. I’ll tell him I took care of you.’

‘You’re not afraid one day he’ll look at him and see the similarities to you?’

The man moved forward and grasped Mum’s throat. My face was pushed against the wet, grey coat. ‘You always did have a big mouth,’ he sneered.

I heard a click next to my ear. Mum pushed the man away. The gun fell to the floor. The grey coat smeared black-red where the flick-knife was embedded.

‘He’ll hunt you down,’ the man said. ‘Whoever he sends next will kill you.’

‘Maybe,’ Mum said. ‘But not today.’

Mum turned and pulled me away. I looked back and saw the man keel over the edge of the causeway and disappear under the murky, grey waves.

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Al Forbes. For more details visit HERE.

To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.