I was really proud of my entry in June’s Scottish Book Trust – 50 Words contest. I even thought it was better than the story chosen as the winner. I suppose that’s fair; we’re entitled to disagree on such things.
I’m less confident on this entry — it’s supposed to be inspired by a trip to the seafront. I was captivated by the idea of a beach scene turned sinister by a viking raid. I’ve not done the best job of conveying that here, but they’re not all going to work. I suppose.
The breeze builds, spinning a parasol planted in the sand, a defiant banner in a war against the North Sea, so that it falls. A beachball is dislodged, severed, to roll free and bob on water turned to blood in the sunset. A longboat drifts away, its raiders victorious.