She won’t stop asking questions, won’t stay quiet. “Sweetheart, don’t worry about it.”
“Daddy said it was the waterwheel. Shadows playing tricks on us, Daddy said.” Her voice descended into a stage whisper, a vain attempt at secrecy.
What else could he have said? Shadows playing tricks, painting marching men across the forest. The whisper of the brook through the waterwheel their echoing voices.
We would never be rid of him. My Agamemnon, sent forth at his brother’s bidding, sent out to reclaim a runaway bride.
I hear voices, getting louder. A gunshot. My lover’s voice, ragged with pain. “She’s downstairs…”
Another bullet silenced him.
A quick drabble for Madison Wood’s Friday Fictioneers using Bittercharm’s wonderful photo, as well as some of this week’s BeKindRewrite‘s prompts: Stage Whisper and We Will Never be Rid of Him. I also adapted the legend of Helen of Troy for my own purposes…now I must be off to cook tea for the wife and kids, but there’s another story I want to write, a line I’ve had cooking in my head all day…Comments and criticism always welcome.