March Prompt Challenge

At the beginning of January, I posted a prompt challenge for a complete scene instead of just a caption. Behold the prompt:

And the winner isAnne of Lothlorien!

“He’s gone. You left him. You left him. You left…”
“I know!” she gasped to the icy gusts, dropping to her knees, her mind tortured with images. His gentle face. The blood on his back. The look in his eyes when she had fled. Pain and love. Such a deep love.
Her grip loosened from the flagpole and it fell to the ice. The sword in her other hand dropped until it too rested on the ground. It was over.
She had left him when he needed her. She had run when she should have fought. And now he was surely dead, and she was paying for it.
She just wanted to die.
She wanted to escape her haunting memories.
‘Please, let me die.’ She closed her eyes for what she hoped was the last time.
Her mind reeled. It couldn’t be… but it was his voice.
‘Get up. Open your eyes.’ She desperately wanted to, but she couldn’t. She was too cold.
She felt a warmth drape over her, and then she was being lifted, and carried away. Was she dead? Was this the White Shore?
Three words were breathed in her ear, in that voice she knew.
“I love you.”
She opened her eyes.
It was him. He was carrying her, wrapped in his cloak.
“I found you.” He said. “I love you.”
She reached up, hesitantly, and touched his cheek, wanting to be sure this wasn’t a taunting dream.
It wasn’t.
“I love you too.”

You have 100-250 words to write a short story/scene that goes with this picture. You have until March 31st to submit your scene in the comments below. I’ll announce the winner in March.  Anyone can enter, but keep your entries clean. No swearing, no gore or sensuality. Have fun!

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  1. Anne of Lothlorien

    “I can’t do this.” Brent muttered. He sat on his shaking hands. “I can’t do this.”
    “It’s his only chance. They’ll never let him go if you don’t do it.”
    “But…but, they’ll never believe it. They’ll think I’m a freak, that I’m crazy. I am crazy! I’m talking to someone in my head. That’s crazy, right?”
    “Brent, stop this. Just go out there and do it for him. He needs you to.”
    He whipped his head from side to side.
    “C’mon. You’re already on the run. They can’t get to you any more, can they? You’ve got to.”
    “I… fine. But I can’t tell what’s going to happen.” Brent stood and looked down the alley to the street. The flashing sirens glared in his eyes. He slowly pulled his hood up, then removed a silver bar from his pocket. He took a step forward.
    “Go on. Just a few more. Then do it.”
    “All right, all right.” Brent inched closer, trying to swallow his fear. A blue spark flickered in his hand, slowly spreading through the rod, up and out the top. The swirls of light melded into a solid, red ribbon that snapped and fluttered in front of him.
    He was at the opening of the alley now. The flapping of his banner drew people’s eyes. A uniformed man walked towards him. Brent took a breath and stepped out, fully exposing himself. He blinked in the strong light, but held his pole firmly.
    “Okay Dad. This is for you.”

  2. The ever familiar smog blurred the metallic form before me. Day after day the transport had taken prisoners to the mines, and each day I’d stood by and watched.
    But not this time.
    I planted myself in the middle of the tracks. My flag, the brilliant hue of the forbidden color, brushed the road like the caress of fire. Gasps rose from the bystanders as they gaped at the offending red. The wiser men hurried on. They knew what was about to happen.
    The government men eased the transport to a stop. One by one they stepped out of the machine and stood, side by side, each wanting to see the boy with red.
    They wouldn’t let me live after this second offence.
    I raised my flag. They raised their rifles.
    The smoky air burned my lungs as I took one last deep breath; everything I’d lived for, my family, the hope of my future, it would all be gone.
    But what was another sunrise if there were still men who weren’t free enough to see it?

  3. I carried the flag that day.

    There were riots in the street, as there had always been. There were police everywhere, as there had always been. There were people hurt that day, as there had always been.

    But this day was different, because today, I carried the flag.

    I carried it proudly, my head held high, my chest puffed out, while my feet steadily beat the staccato notes I had dreamed about for years.

    They followed behind, the true, the loyal the brave.

    And we marched on.

    The days would go on as they always had, but throughout the years to come I could look back on that day.

    I carried the flag that day.

    I carried the flag for freedom.

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