Iain Kelly

They had stood there for centuries. As long as anyone could remember the three boulders had sat on the ledge overlooking the small hamlet.

That night rain had lashed the hillside, thunder had rumbled and lightning had lit the dark sky.

No one had heard anything apart from the howling wind. It was the farmers, rising early to begin their work in the fields, who were the first to witness the destruction.

Two boulders remained on their familiar perch, the other, on a river of mud and rubble, had fallen down the hillside. A path could be seen where it had flattened ferns and heather and small trees as it tumbled.

By the time it had struck the car it must have been travelling at a ferocious speed. The boulder had settled on top of the twisted and crushed red metal, pinning down its mechanical victim in submission.

Old Farmer Gilhoun was the one chosen to break the news to the rich gentleman who had recently moved into the cottage previously owned by the departed Granny Stafford.

A group of villagers gathered to watch as the city dweller rushed out his doorway, arms flailing, wailing in despair. His prize Ferrari was beyond repair.

By the following week the cottage was again up for sale, the urbanite had given up on his dream of a holiday home in the country. This time no-one outbid the community offer to purchase the building and turn it into a much-needed retirement home for the elderly in the village.

The locals rejoiced in The Stag’s Head pub the day that the final documents were signed.

A group of villagers had managed to return the boulder to its original perch, this time secured by ties and moorings. How the boulder that had withstood centuries of storms and rockfalls came to be dislodged was not discussed. Nor was the happenstance of its fortuitous path directly into the car belonging to the new unwanted arrival in the village. There was however a toast from the village elder to the three Percival Brothers, three tall, burly men who sat in a corner table looking on with satisfied smiles.

Everything was as it should be.

This is a response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Fallen curated over at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.