Week 333 – A lovely day

Black relaxed as the last rays of sunlight disappeared and night fully took hold.

Iy had been a lovely day, clear blue skies, sunshine, birds singing, butterflies flitting, warm but not too hot. The kind of day people went all soft and gooey over.

But not him.

He hated the summer. With a vengeance. Couldn’t wait for it to hurry up and get gone for another year. Give him a freezing cold, dark, overcast, snowy day and he was a happy camper. But summer and sunshine and heat, it hurt his black little heart.

Like most things in life, summer had to be endured, and so he did so without complaint. Okay, that was a lie. He complained. A lot. All summer long. But in the end he still what he needed to do even if all he wanted to do was hide out in his house with he lights off until winter returned.

At least with the sun down, the dark sky spread out above him like a beautiful black canvas dotted with millions of twinkling stars, Black could pretend that it wasn’t his least favourite time of the year. With the wind in his hair he steered his yacht towards the boat that had let out a distress signal.

Usually it wasn’t in his nature to go out of his way to help others. Black was focused to the point of obsession on any goal he set himself, and this time out here on his yacht at night was supposed to be his own, his time to unwind, declutter his mind, prepare for the next day. But rules of the sea said you answered the call. So he was. Reluctantly.

All was quiet when he approached the other vessel. It was dark, no lights on, no sounds, no person awaiting help.


Unease prickled across his skin. Something wasn’t right. While he wanted to turn, drive off, pretend he’d never heard the call, Black found that he couldn’t.

Something was drawing him towards the boat.

So he pulled up alongside the vessel, a slightly larger yacht than his own, and boarded. Even now as he walked about there was nothing, not a single sound, not a single sign of life.

Then he saw it.

The blood.


Like a massacre had occurred.

Pulling out his weapon, he moved methodically through the yacht, searching for anything that might tell him what had gone on here. He should leave, call in the cops, let them deal with it.

He almost did, but then he sensed it.

A person.

Close by.

There. His gaze zeroed in on a small space under a seat was what looked like a storage compartment. It was just big enough to hide a person.

Weapon trained on the space, he reached out with one hand and ripped off the top of the seat.

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