The people burn. Bright flames of white heat in the darkness.
They are everywhere, surrounding him, closing in.
He shrinks back, covering his face with his hands, cowering in the depths of his own black mind.
Make them stop. Make them stop.
Faces crowd him. Searing orbs. Skulls with eyes of deep black emptiness.
They screech at him. Urging him to do it.
They will only leave his nightmares if he does what they ask.
His resistance falters. He screams back.
He looks at the scared mother and child huddled in the corner.
‘I’m sorry.’
He drops the match into the pool of petrol.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above). I hope everyone is coping with the new WordPress editor. I’m finding it quite frustrating, but getting there!
To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.
IAIN KELLY 
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