Image: Pixabay
The river wasn’t incredibly deep, but it was wide and the current brisk. Inga and Charles stood staring at the detritus which seemed to permeate the flow.
“Charles, we can’t wait here all day, the pageant is right after lunch, and the town is still over a mile away.”
Inga had spent most of the last week sorting the ribbons, and finishing the embroidery on her native dress. It was the one hundredth anniversary of their nation’s independence from the Empire, and Inga was supposed to lead the dance.
Without a word, Charles lifted her and entered the water.
(99 words)
Padre
And his foot slipped on a rock, he lost his balance and they both drowned. Oh dear, I’ve imagined such a sad end to your story. I do apologise. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your story captures the silence of a determination.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Carried Wives « Carrot Ranch Literary Community