Written for Flash! Friday vol. 2-39. This week’s prompt was include a baby, along with the photo shown of St. Kilda.
Once upon a blue moon, Gramps talks of his Island boyhood. There he sits on his rocker, staring across the foggy glen, facing the rising sun.
“A bonnie day. Quite like that last mornin’ on the Island.”
From what I gather, the official history is a cover. Legends tell of unspeakable horror. Sheep sacrificed. Dogs drowned. An island abandoned.
“Even as a wee bairn, I felt the rumblin’ of the Accursed Coming.”
Since the time of Druids, its high cliffsides concealed the Island’s dark secrets.
“I dinnae ken how we survived the hellish creature that was born that night.” His voice is a thousand miles distant. “But I’ll remember that bonnie mornin’ till the day I die.”
After the evacuation, young Gramps enlisted for the war effort. He met Gramma Stella on deployment. The rest is family history.
Gramps insists on a toast. Brown liquor flows. He raises his glass wearily. “To last days. And firsts.”