The night fire on the beach burned bright and hot. I stared into its warmth and chaos for hours. It held the end of everything I was, everything I thought I’d ever be. I could still feel blood dripping down my back. I cut off my wings and incinerated them.
I got the prompt for this one from Iain Kelly’s blog. He wrote a 50 word story based on the photo above in response to the Scottish Book Trust’s 50-Word Fiction Competition for March. Not sure if I should enter the contest, since I’m not particularly keen on “winning” anything. My story is exactly 50 words. Let me know what you think.