The Isle of Brad


Brad was an explorer born six centuries too late. He’d known this from childhood, staging naval battles in the bathtub. Trading pinecones and beads with his action figures. But at forty-six there were no new worlds to conquer, save the mysterious space where paper jammed in the office copier. So Brad set out in his dingy boat, looking for a land to call his own.

Just four hours later, he found an unfamiliar isle and turned ashore. Sand and gravel crunched under his hull. If Meredith could see me now, he thought. Bitch. 

Out here there was nothing to prove, no clock-in hours or refrigerator politics. Just salt and spray and squawking gulls. And a family of four picnicking on the island’s other side. No gold here.

He picked a fresh course; the Isle of Brad lay somewhere else, but he would find it. Rest assured. As soon as he resupplied his cooler bag with more Pepsi and bologna. The adventurer’s life was hungry work.

[166 words]

This post was written in response to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge

The photo prompt was provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode. Thank you Louise!

You can read other stories inspired by this prompt here. 

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