sunday photo fiction: your mission, should you choose to accept it . . .

A two crew craft from the local rowing craft.

photo by Al Sunday Fictioneer

I was wired, packed, and panicked.

One more look at my instructions.

One more fingertraceing the map.

One more deep breath.

Then dash from forest edge.

Scattering. Slipping.

Loose earth. Wet leaves.

Siddling across the gravel.

Out into open.

Feeling vulnerable.

Boat as described.

Paddles in place.

Throw in my gear.

Boat so heavy.

Drew strength from deep inside.

Drag to water’s edge.

Push off at turn of tide.

Feel power of ocean beneath my feet.

Off to do my duty.

To complete my mission.

To be a hero.

To come back alive.

If possible.



16 thoughts on “sunday photo fiction: your mission, should you choose to accept it . . .

        • Your peaceful picture of a boat has given rise to a variety of perspectives. My father served towards the end of WWII; he went to Korea in 1952. Later he was in Laos and Viet Nam. So, D-Day reminds me of his service to his country as well as soldiers in many wars.


          • My father was born at the beginning of the war, but his father served in the Black Watch, Scotland’s top most army unit. He was captured though, and ended up in a Japanese POW camp where he contracted TB and died not long after the war ended


  1. You can go forward and backwards with this. Secret missions are always interesting. Sometimes though I think just coming back in one piece at all is better than being a hero.
    My FIL was in WWII and just refused to speak of any of the horrors.

    Nicely done. Thanks for stopping by and your interest in the Sonja Series. ~Jules


    • Thank you.
      I can’t image what it was like to go into battle, feeling that beating the enemy was more important than your own life.
      My dad was in the army for the last year of WW2, but got as far as Newfoundland — then not part of Canada, so his regiment were considered to have been overseas.
      He did serve in the Korean War, and did some diplomatic work in South East China.
      I can’t image that — ready to kill — and compare that to the man I knew.


I like first person narratives.

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