PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Saline tanned and rope-roughed hands, the old fisherman pulls the needle through and round, over and hitch as he’s always done.
The waves against the sea wall fizzle respect for a worthy adversary; the gulls keen camaraderie from a deferential blue sky.
A disabled, rotting hull, he mends nets but can no longer fish. His stagnant, rock-pooled tears harbour painful pining beneath dead eyes, lamenting brutal years of toil.
Life’s soundtrack of the sea’s noises, fades like a relentlessly turning record slowing to an elegy. There’s a last weary wisp of breath and the needle drops unnoticed to the cobbles.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.