100-Word Fiction: ‘Boat People’

I dreamed we had to cross the creek where the old ford once made it easy. The river was deep and the current strong. Silt turned the water brown. Or was the river a lake too wide to swim across? Or was it a sea? There were boats crammed full of people, shouting, who stood on cabin roofs, clinging to anything that would keep them aboard. They were the boat people of Vietnam, Somalia, South Sudan. They were toppling into the water, over and over, disappearing under… And I floated, floated, wakening, over, swimming, crossing, hoping, toppling, clinging, floating, floating…

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Author: MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. 'Scarecrow', a debut collection of poetry is available now from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

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