Just one more gate to clear and he’s through – he dabs the sweat from his forehead before he reaches the guard, holds in the cough that itches like a quill at his throat.
Why does that man – the one with the yellowed fingers, the ochre teeth – want the virus to spread to the island? The money they gave him (enough to get Maisie through college, enough for a house – for a future) almost helps him forget to wonder. Almost.
Later, slumped in the ferry terminal toilets, the lights buzz and flicker like an electric storm and he wants to shield his eyes, though the pain’s too great to move a finger. Maisie comes, holds a cool hand against his cheek. ‘Silly Daddy,’ she says.
Written for Sonya at Only 100 Word’s Three Line Tales. See the pic, write a story in three-ish lines.