Danny Porter’s tangled, grey locks were a familiar sight on the hot, dusty streets of Grantsville – most people thought Danny was a bit peculiar. It hadn’t always been this way: once he was a bright, starry eyed kid with plans to leave town and earn his fortune in the big city. Instead his wandering eyes met those of Ellen Jenkins; within a year they were wed, within two, a blissfully happy Danny and Ellen were expecting their first born.
When Ellen started to bleed a month from her due date, Danny’s world began to unravel. A night filled with screams and tears ended in terrifying silence. As dawn broke both mother and son lay at peace; Danny was never the same man again.
Over the years he began to drink and drift. From time to time he’d come back to town to sit at Ellen’s grave with his chocolate lab, Scruffy. When he returned last fall it seemed he was finally losing what was left of his mind:
‘She’s in there, wants me to join her,’ he mumbled. ‘In the swamp, I saw her, looking out at me – my Ellen.’
The barman in the Red Lady just smiled. ‘Sure Danny, sure she was. Another?’
The following morning they found Scruffy barking himself hoarse by the swamp.
Many years have passed since that morning. Yet, when the moon is high in the clear night sky some say you can still see them: Danny, Ellen and their son – locked in the reflections.
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.