This week’s Friday flash-fiction effort is based on the story of Joseph (first published on www.barnstormers.org.uk). For some reason I can’t get the show out of my head!
Their jubilant shouts of victory rang in his ears as he lay slumped in the dirt. Sand and dust blew in clouds across the dried-out well as he breathed, in and out, in and out. His body still refused to give up hope even as his soul lay in tatters.
The betrayal had come so unexpectedly. He thought they were pleased that he had dreams for his future and hopes to become someone more than he was now. He’d taken their good humoured smiles at face-value when he’d danced around in the beautiful coat his Dad had made for him. It never even crossed his mind that they’d worn thinly veiled masks hiding their jealously and disgust at his fortune. And, now they were too far from home for anyone to save him, they had attacked. He hadn’t been ready for them. No chance of fighting back as they beat him to a pulp, ripped his coat to shreds and threw him away like discarded rubbish.
He looked up as his eyes slowly began to acclimatise to the bleakness of the dark. Was that a loose section? A foothold? Hope surged through him as he pulled himself upright and reached up. It immediately disintegrated at his touch and his hopes dived. Helplessness descended. He could hear them in the distance discussing his fate. He knew now that he may have no future. This could be it. The thought chilled him.
A shadow fell across the top of the well. Time was up.