WRITING PROMPT NO. 281
He ran his fingers over the picture frame.
The wood was rough and splintered where he’d dropped it. The glass remained smooth and unbroken and Margaret still smiled out from the photograph.
The blizzard outside kept them in their cabins, the wind howling a mournful cry through the night.
He placed the picture back on the narrow shelf that ran along the length of his bed. A sulphurous whiff of boiled cabbage floated into the cabin.
"Where's Stefan," he said.
Hans shrugged and shook his head his eyes following the tiny words of love handwritten on thin rose-scented notepaper.
"He's been gone too long." Patrick stood up reaching for his thick jacket. He slung it over his body and pushed his arms through the heavy sleeves. He sat back down to fit his boots on. Picking up his gloves he turned towards Hans.
"I'm going out to find him. Tell the others."
Hans raised his hand.
"I'll tell them," he said.
Patrick walked away out of the cabin to the stairs which led up to the deck of the ship.
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