Flash Fiction - 4-21-20 - W/C 289
“Quite a pattern you’ve got there.” George looked over my shoulder. I’d been working in the fine sand all morning. I’d almost finished a flowing Celtic design of twisting and turning cables and knots. It grew from a dot below my knees.
“I know. It’s something I saw online. Funny how an idea grabs hold of you and won’t let go.” There was one more tangle and line I just had to enlarge. A bit more and I would be done. I scooped more sand. “Could you get me more water?” I gave George the small bucket.
Suddenly I felt a tug. One of the cables from the design had my leg and was sucking me down into the sand. I tried to pull away, but it grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.
“Hey George, something’s going on here. You’d better find some help.” I fell into a black space under the sand, pulled there by the cable of my Celtic design. A small man was sitting on a large shell in a cave. He shone a light into my face.
“What’re ye doing with my design? See now, that’s no way to play. Ye do no mess with the Celtic symbols. They’re sacred laddie.”
I was speechless. How was I to know what I found online was sacred. I began to speak. A starfish flew through the air and landed on my head.
“No speakin’. You will go back to the sand. Destroy the work. Or else.”
The cable threw me back up to the light. George stood with the bucket and a lifeguard.
I grabbed the bucket and threw water on the design. It melted into a puddle of wet sand.
George and the lifeguard exchanged glances. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Seems I couldn’t get the copyright.”