Friday Fictioneers contribution for March 14. Join the fun at http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/.
“My leg’s broke.” He clinched his teeth. The barrel rumbled over the planked pier as they pushed it to the boathouse in the lake’s center. Each step brought grinding pain.
“Don’t be a baby.” She didn’t spare a glance.
A cool, fish-scented breeze wafted across the water. Not another soul around. How long would their luck last?
“Help me get it over the rail.”
A gut-wrenching pull, a splash, and a burble. The barrel sank.
“Bad editors,” she said as the bubbles stopped, “deserve drowning.”
He had to agree. He rubbed his aching leg. At least he could still type.
I admit I was stumped for a topic as I looked at this picture. When I described it to hubby, he said, “Hmm. Sounds like a good place to dump a body.” And that, as they say, was that.