Watching over me (Friday Fictioneers)
PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall
Tradition dictated when traversing the halls one was supposed to stop and admire the urns.
A sliver of ice slid along my spine. The hair on my arms quivered.
Holding the bodies of the ancestors, these urns were the ones I was always held up against and found wanting. Curling my lip, I sneered at the shiny clay.
“Urthinda!”
No more training, no more fighting. The words pounded in my brain as my feet slapped the tiles. They wouldn’t find me in the catacombs. Not immediately. My scroll was tucked into my tunic. My charcoal pencil would keep me company.
This is a Friday Fictioneers prompt
Word count: 100
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Youth is no excuse. Old age, even less
Very true. Impetuous and opinionated too.
Time to make something of themself. I like their determination.
Yes indeed. To be herself I think
Your MC is taking a big risk, I fear.
You are very right Penny. A hard life and a tough choice
I can’t help but wish him/her good luck!
Yes. She needs to be her true self. Fingers crossed
I love this. You go, Urthinda!
Thank you!! 😊
Pay no attention to all those urns. You are you. Well done, Laurie.
Thank you John! Darn judgmental urns
I know right?
Dear Laurie
To have our lives dictated by our family and never to be our authentic selves is a fate worse than death. Truly walking dead IMHO. Well done.
Shalom
Rochelle
Yes, exactly Rochelle. 😃
Urthinda has work to do. And to stop and remember the dead every time you walk down a corridor must be a bit of a bind, and slow you down. It will be a long time before she joins them I think.
Yes very true Sarah Ann!
Thanks for reading
Nice. So much truth in these words for so many… I was always held up against and found wanting.
It’s a hard thing, pressure you cannot hope to meet when you are a different person
There is always a burden with ancestors… someone has to find a new path I think
Agreed Bjorn. A new path for her
That was an intriguing little story.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
Thank you Susan!