I hate that pier. I hate those words.
“He’s barely thirteen,” momma implored.
“He needs to learn the ropes,” father bellowed; “We Logan men are fisher-folk. I’m taking him with me and that’s final.”
They were still arguing when I went to bed.
Sometime around midnight, I startled awake to the sound of running feet and a crash. Slowly I sneaked up to the stairs only to hear whimpering from the bottom. Scared, I crawled back to bed, curled up and shushed myself to sleep.
At dawn father woke me up and hurried us out to the boat. Strange, but momma never came to bid goodbye.
Now I fear the return.
With growing dread I watch the ‘Welcome Home‘ sign.
In response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday – Week 16 challenge, based on photo prompt by Bikurgurl’s mother SandraJune.