photo by Ales Krivec via Unsplash
In sight of the church, within the toll of bells we slept, not seeing, not hearing, just feeling – though we knew what would happen if … .
Then came the heavy tramp of boots on the boards, on the ladder, in the straw where we lay, bodies curled together like seeds in pods, snails in shells – you screaming, dragged by the hair, the stench of the flames as the boards, the straw, our life together burned.
In sight of the church, in the toll of the bells we wept.
Written for Sonya at Only 100 Words’ Three Line Tales. See the pic and write a tale. Visit here to write your own and to read the other stories.
