Mea culpa. Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault, I have exceeded 100 words, posted two days early, and left all of my faithful readers wondering what awaits Angelique at the penitentiary. As recompense for my sins, I direct you to a previous story to shed some light on Robby’s guilt.
On a slightly dumb note, I’m not quite sure how to genrify Angelique. I’m thinking either Paranormal or Supernatural, but since I don’t actually read either of those genres, I’m not sure which label fits better or if she belongs elsewhere. If you would, please leave a note and let me know what you think. Thank you in advance!
Today’s photo comes from fellow Fictioneer Lora Mitchell. Click on the blue froggy guy at the bottom of the page to read all the stories inspired by her explosive picture. Better yet, join the Friday Fictioneer fun by writing your own 100 words and adding your story to the list!
Mea Culpa (150ish)
From the belfry, the boy surveyed the crowd on the pier. Slowly, he stepped to the edge. Wind ruffling his hair, he turned to Angelique with anguished eyes.
“You were with her, weren’t you?”
“Till the very end.”
“Jen…” He threw his head back, eyes closed, stomach convulsing.
In the bay, the countdown began.
10, 9, 8…
“You can’t hurt me, you know?”
His dark eyes bored into hers.
7, 6, 5, 4…
“You can’t stop me, either.”
Angelique jumped first. Writhing in the air, she threw her arms around his torso. Pain tore down her back, and they slowed, her ivory wings spread wide.
3, 2, 1…
The cracking of his bones coincided with the first explosion of fireworks. She pressed her cheek to his, whispered “Robby,” and lifted off to the rhythm of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Claire had advised a solitary place. Perhaps if Angelique flew far enough, she could forget him and Jen and all the rest.