Home. The ferry was more inviting. Jan unwound herself from the bench. “Come on. You can do it.” Almost reluctantly she walked up the hill, guided by the moonlight, to the house she’d left twenty years earlier.
Her parents slept. Jan stood in the doorframe, staring at them, willing them to wake. Aiming the rifle she yelled, “Wake up.” She watched as her parents roused. Her father’s mouth drooped, trying to form words. .
“Is that you Janny?” her mother called. Her unfocussed eyes flickered in all directions.
Jan turned and left. Too late to punish but the torture could continue.
In response to Friday Fictioneer’s.