The Bridge

It was the sound that caught my attention: the flutter of the shutter…that soft click that told me I’d been captured, my image forever caught and available for detailed inspection.

Bent over the railing of the bridge, I’d been gazing at the water below, when the wind caught my skirt, whipping it upward. Tepid air, like ghostly fingers, grazing my bare skin, causing my muscles to tighten. At that moment, all I’d wanted was the sun between my legs and the breeze kissing me…there.

Eyes closed to focus on the sensations, I’d licked my lips, and sighed.

And then a succession of clicks startled me.

Turning to track the sound, I met the eyes of the man at the end of the bridge, lowering his camera, lens still aimed in my direction.

A tiny pearl-colored drip trickled down the inside of my thigh, as I ran the other way.

This week’s #flashfictionfriday challenge was this:

Write 100-150 words in response to the Feature image. Added challenge: don’t start any of your sentences with a pronoun (he, she, we, they, etc.).

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