Years later, looking back, only the oldest would remember a time before the fence.
Stood beneath the rusted thorns they would talk of melting pots and ghettos, while in the sentry towers barely-pubescent soldiers would fantasise about killing.
At dusk the first wolves would melt out of the darkness, their hungry eyes flashing a warning to any fool who might try to upset the natural order of things.
“Be thankful,” the old ones would say as distant searchlights sliced the gathering dark, “Just be thankful it’s not you in there.”
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This is a 100-word flash fiction story, prompted by the picture you can see up there, as part of Friday Fictioneers.
Click here if you’d like to take part, and click here to read other pieces.
10 thoughts on “The Fence”
Not too hard to imagine these days, is it? Very well done.
Fantastic take on the prompt! Really enjoyed your story, Heidi :)
You remind me about East Berlin in the fifties and being chased.
“At dusk the first wolves would melt out of the darkness”- found this line interesting and unique. Liked the route you took with prompt. Good one.
Especially chilling with those young soldiers ready to kill for their own amusement.. i can see this coming … alas.
what a great post.
Dear Simon John,
You did a fine job with the prompt.
Each line gets chillier than the one before. Sadly, it can apply to many places, of the past, of the present, of the future.
Realistically terrifying details. Well done!