Prompted by L.S. Engler, another fellow writer who writes about writing.
So much sky, so much green. Mountains that seem never to end.
The city was far behind me. I remember watching the skyline of my home town fading away in the distance, feeling a sense of dread for the months to come.
Penance is what they called it.
You do something wrong, and they send you away for penance.
To be honest, I could think of far worse places to serve my nine month sentence, but I already missed the rush of traffic, narrow alleys, the pulse and hype of night clubs.
I could see my destination just over the next rise in the rolling valley. A monestary full of hooded and cloaked monks in brown sackloth smelling of sweat and bitter incense was what I had to look forward to.
Work, work, work. Eat, meditate. Work. Sleep.
I wanted to turn and run, but I was stranded. There was no going back. I did what I did and now I had to pay the price.
If I could have gone back then and changed what I’d done, I wouldn’t have. I knew that. They were going to try to make me regret what I’d done and squeeze some kind of apology out of me. Good little daughters don’t run away with bad boys and neglect to call home for six months, but when they do they’re sent here.
I stopped and looked back at my guide.
“I want to go back,” I said.
“That’s too bad.”
“Will they be nice to me there?”
“They probably won’t even speak to you.”
I sighed, ran fingers through my hair. “Can I stay here a moment, you know, prepare myself?”
He shook his head no and goaded me on with his walking stick.
Author’s Note: Short, sweet, and incomplete. But I’ve got dishes to do and a sleeping baby to wake up so I can start on my other Flash Fiction challenge of the week. Enjoy 🙂