Footprints in the Sand

Flash Fiction

Photo by AbdolAzim Mollaie on Unsplash

Johnny brandishes the irregular piece of flint for my inspection. “Do you think it’s an arrowhead from olden times?”

Rocking from side to side, he awaits the verdict.

Who am I to say no? Having left school with a home economics GCSE, I’m no archaeologist. Even the safe sex talk didn’t stick.

All I know is after cooking pasta you can use some of the water to improve the sauce. That and a child’s confidence is a fragile thing.

I accept the broken stone and run a fingertip over the edge.

“I don’t know, but it’s certainly sharp.” Placing the flint down, I rub his hands in mine to remove the coarse sand. “Shall we see what we can find in the rock pools?”

We set out, with my son leaping over the footprints of those who have gone before.