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Watching over me (Friday Fictioneers)

November 2, 2017

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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23 Comments
  1. Youth is no excuse. Old age, even less

  2. Time to make something of themself. I like their determination.

  3. Your MC is taking a big risk, I fear.

  4. Dale permalink

    I can’t help but wish him/her good luck!

  5. I love this. You go, Urthinda!

  6. Pay no attention to all those urns. You are you. Well done, Laurie.

  7. 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

  8. Sarah Ann permalink

    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.

  9. Nice. So much truth in these words for so many… I was always held up against and found wanting.

  10. There is always a burden with ancestors… someone has to find a new path I think

  11. That was an intriguing little story.
    Susan A Eames at
    Travel, Fiction and Photos

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