Rider on the storm

The probate decision came. Mother’s beach house would go to Aunt Beatrice, Mother’s tormentor.

Dire visions came to mind — murderous ones — dear old Auntie tumbling off cliffs, poisoned, drowned.

I took Stormy out on the beach, galloped for miles, chased seagulls. Then I rode on, turning away from my memories.

This is my micro-fiction story for this week’s 50-Word Challenge. The prompt word is “chase.”

I love how a story comes together sometimes. This one was a weirdly organic process that went something like this:

I thought about the word “chase.” I imagined someone watching clouds chasing one another across the sky.
Then I thought of storm clouds, and storms as a metaphor for the trials and challenges of our lives.
I remembered the old song by The Doors, Riders on the Storm. I knew I was closing in on something that would inspire my story, but it hadn’t come into focus yet.
Finally, I went to Pixabay and looked for images of horseback riders. When I came upon the image above, the story came to me. I thought of a young woman riding off anger and sadness. I thought of the drama behind her pain — her mother passing on without leaving a will, perhaps from the stress of a lifetime of being tormented by her own sister. And the result of that lack of a will means the beach house she loves will go to the aunt.

I hope you enjoyed the story. Thanks so much for reading!