Your Story #135

Prompt: Write a drabble—a short story of exactly 100 words—based on the photo prompt below. You can be funny, poignant, witty, etc.; it is, after all, your story.

Email your submission to yourstorycontest@aimmedia.com with the subject line "Your Story 135."

No attachments, please. Include your name and mailing address. Entries without a name or mailing address with be disqualified.

Unfortunately, we cannot respond to every entry we receive, due to volume. No confirmation emails will be sent out to confirm receipt of submission. But be assured all submissions received before entry deadline are considered carefully. Official Rules.

Entry Deadline: CLOSED

Out of more than 100 entries, WD editors chose the following 6 finalists. Vote for your favorite using the comments section at the bottom of the page.

We weren’t allowed to go to the lake. Adults said it was dangerous. Kids said it was cursed, but we were thirteen, impervious to danger. Now I was drowning.

As the water enveloped me, a vision appeared of older women in bathing suits laughing. When I saw the tattoo, the one Jen swore she’d get when she turned eighteen, I knew it was her and there was Maggie, still wearing her signature pink lipstick.

My life wasn’t flashing before me. My future was. A resolve overcame my fatigued body; I pushed against the water until the sun met my face.

Maxine laughed; it was all she could do. Dorothy leaned on her shoulder and joined. Tears fell from Maryann’s eyes, landing on her damp towel. They had taken their last plunge; the group that had started out with 50 girls was now three, some sinking and drowning, others simply giving up and leaving the lake. They had been swimming for 47 years, endless, restless swimming while the men watched from the shallows, dark rat-like eyes judging every stroke.

The three women were now given the “privilege” of wading in the shallows, for what remained of their time in the lake.  

Exhausted, Charlie emerged from the forest to a scenic lake. Approaching the sound of musical laughter, he came upon three women enjoying the afternoon. As he neared, a sense of calm settled over him. One of the women, smiling like his grandmother, unknowingly stepped towards the water.

Suddenly, she tripped, pulling them all under. Charlie plunged in, upon breaking the surface, their true forms revealed, grotesque creatures with scaly tails. One wrapped around his legs, dragging him into the darkness, despite his valiant fight.

Just as his fate seemed sealed, he pulled to the surface and was thrown upon the shore.

I mounted the paddleboard again. Look where you want to go, not at the water. My friends smiled as I plied the oar. We glided along, their movements more graceful than mine. I joined the line in the place they had saved for me as if I had never left, never searched for oceans, because I resented the lake. A lone duck skimmed the surface near us, oblivious to the flock in the sky. We rounded the last curve of the small island. At the dock, they wrapped me in a towel, cheering my return to them and the lake.

The summer air breathed excitement, mingled with effervescent laughter. It was a magical moment in the lives of Moots, Toots, and Little Bit.

It was to be the last summer the three sisters would see each other. War and personal tragedy would change their lives, but the future, like all futures,

lay gratefully hidden. Now, they were like kids, embracing the moment without a care. It was childhood replayed—their giggles bubbled like a soda fountain’s fizz.

The playfulness of splashing water and magical summertime fun would replay again for each of them in their memories, although in solitary reflection.

“This morning swim was fire!” Lizzy shouted as she toweled off on the side of the riverbank. “This spot is lit too, even if it is a little sus though that we were the only ones here on a Saturday like this.”

“No cap,” Candace replied. “Emmy, where’d you hear about this place?”

“Saw it on a hike the other day. And with that abandoned factory right there, you can’t beat the parking.”

They had just finished getting dressed when the men in hazmat suits approached. “Lizzy! You’re … old!“

“So are you!”

“Quarantine the area! Three more for geriatric transport!”