Ancestral Right

Gin gathered her shoes to take one last look at the white cliffs from where she stood. The tears wouldn’t come. Not even the comfortable scream she always felt broiling it in the pit of her stomach. She thought the rage would fuel her until no one, not Zuckerborg, Tramp nor any other billion-trillionaire could ever think about claiming a right to her ancestor’s homeland.  And here she was, her emotions, her will, her plans dissipated like the froth that whimpered inches from her feet.

“Look at me. I was as angry as those crashing waves on the rocks over there… I’m supposed to live old and die on those cliffs.”

By the tone of her voice, Tara knew the expression on Gin’s face before she even looked up at her dear friend. The person who stood before her was someone else, someone new.  She was excited  to see this, but mentioning it now would be like rushing a newborn foal out to pasture before it could stand. Was she ready?  “What are you going to do now?” Tara asked.

Gin’s calm face hid her hardened soul.  “It’s not over.. he can’t own the world.”


Visit Al Forbes’s Sunday Photo Fiction for a photo that will inspire you to write a story of 200 words or so.

Thanks to Iian and his own Sunday Photo Fiction post “Sand.”  Emphasis on characterization.

For action moves on this see “Silent Defender.”

For poetry form – “Come and Follow Me.’


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