AnElephantCant deny he loves to be beside the seaside
The very thought of it fills him with calm
Between you and he
He does like to be beside the sea
He likes to stroll upon the Prom, Prom, Prom where the brass bands play Tiddely-om-pom-pom*
This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Alastair.
Just click on the link to see some salt-sprayed stories in response to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please first cast an eye over AnElephant’s tuneless tale
*For the enlightenment of non-British readers, this is from a famous music hall song from a century ago, but still known to pretty much everyone in the UK.
When she sees the shoe she fears the worst.
It is her daughter’s.
The left one.
Just lying there, behind the benches on the promenade, all by itself.
Cost her a fortune too, that she can ill afford.
But her baby had pleaded with her, in tears.
All the girls have them, Mum, I can’t go anywhere if I don’t get them.
And now there it is.
Her heart breaks.
Her child is her life.
Tourists flock by, unknowing, uncaring.
She drops to her knees in despair.
It’s okay, darling, we’ll find a way to replace them, she tells the sobbing girl.