The Weather Vane

My Sunday foray into flash fiction. Al’s Sunday Photo Fiction, around 200 words of fiction based on his weekly changing photo prompt. Get yourselves over and read the others, give it a go…

 

The wind was building, weaving between the tall oaks that wrapped around the meadow. She didn’t hear the first shot, didn’t see it pass overhead.  Nor the second, but she felt the force of it hit. A force so powerful it knocked her clean to the ground. Dazed, she put her hand to her side and flinched. Lifting her palm she saw the blood seeping between her fingers and burning bile hit her throat before everything went black.

.. She opened her eyes, to the familiar scent of her bedroom. The pain under her ribs nearly took the breath from her body.  A shadow came from the corner

“What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, you could have been killed falling off that roof?”

“I thought I could help”

“I told you I’d take that old bloody weather vane down when I finished work” he roared.

She remembered climbing the ladder, tools in her waist band. The sun warm against her back. Then as she touched the weather vane a sudden flash of white; a girl on a horse, a cloaked rider chasing behind and then the blood. She put her hand to her side, no gun shot.

“You and that damn curse, I told you it was rubbish” Her eyes caught the roof through the window, the metal vane glistening in the sunlight, to and fro,

“Perhaps” she said, as her hand once more moved to her side…