Microfiction #writephoto: Carp by Jane Dougherty

Jane DoughertyThe stream ran over the ancient stones as it had done for almost a thousand years, but the carp pool was empty. No fish had grown fat in its crystal bright waters for so long that few remembered what the stone basins had once been used for. The child dipped her fingers in the water and withdrew them quickly, shaking her hand as if she’d been stung.

“It’s cold,” her mother said and rubbed the hand to get the warmth back.

The child nodded, but it wasn’t the cold that had made her draw back. “Can we go now?” she asked, but her mother had already turned away to photograph a fragment of cloister.

The voices muttered angrily and the child frowned, not understanding all of the words. She wandered to the area where broken stones with pointy writing on them lay among creeping plants. The voices fell silent, and she could almost hear breath being held. Monks’graves, her mother had said. She scuffed one with her shoe. The stone was cracked across and there were chips out of it where tiny flowers grew. Her mother had said it was a shame the graves weren’t tended, but the child knew why.

Continue reading: Microfiction #writephoto: Carp

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com.
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6 Responses to Microfiction #writephoto: Carp by Jane Dougherty

  1. Most enjoyable short story.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. chris jensen says:

    A gift for you an Jane Dougherty;



    Stones could taste
    the soft ancient water,
    trickling methodically
    into the hard base…

    Ancient decaying ruins
    mystic words
    quietly, silently written,
    as distant sounds
    a young child heard…

    Witness to a living
    daytime dream,
    hands forward
    we held back a quiet,



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