I don't want to go back. We moored the boat among the reeds and the water ran between my toes, warm and caressing. Now the mud has dried on the bottom of my feet and crumbles when I curl my toes. He does that. He draws a callused fingertip from my ankle up to the hollow behind my knee and my toes curl under as though an invisible thread binds them to his hands.
How long would it be, before they realise I am gone, if I never go back? How long before they understand it was they who made me run away? Who would be first to notice the missing boat and its owner? I wonder, will they recognise the missing piece of the jigsaw?
The clouds are hurrying across the sky, chasing the sunlight to bed. A breeze runs after them, ruffling the treetops as it goes by. But we remain. He has set the boat free. When darkness comes, we will be ready, my lover and I.
Inspired by this lovely picture prompt over at:
http://creativewriting.ie/writing-exercises/