The Irish Premonition

boat-cup

(Image Credit: Crispina Kemp)

“One of these days I will book a berth in a boat such as this to a faraway land ” said Ash pointing to the moored or marooned (depending upon the mood of its owner and the predilections of its captain) boat in white.

Even though Venky had heard this monologue a billion times, on this sharp and crisp midsummer morning, a nasty chill ran down his spine. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and very soon rivulets of them streamed down his face. “You are a walking rain!” exclaimed Ash in sincere wonderment.

“Enough!” hissed Venky in a voice that was singularly venomous and one which even he did not know he possessed. Startled by this incredulous reaction, Ash retreated into a silence that was both stony and deafening.

Exactly six months later Ash was on her way to Dublin. She didn’t sail though. She flew.

(Word Count: 148)

Written as part of the Crimson’s Creative Challenge #31 More details regarding this challenge may be found HERE.

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