She lay at the bottom. His trawler picked her up.

‘Suicide,’ determined the policeman passionless as he glanced at the bloated body.

Forensics still had to be called.

Twenty-something.

‘She could have been my daughter,’ the fisherman mused.

Who was this girl? How did she die? Why did she get caught in his trawler?

Seeing her blue swollen body resonated deeply. His wife said while his boat trawled the depths nets, he skimmed the surface.

He gleaned the local papers and found it was suicide. Apparently, she had been depressed for sometime.

Why couldn’t fate have place him there, stopped her merge with the water, rather than where he found her, dead, when it was too late? Why wasn’t it anyone’s fate to stop her? Why didn’t coincidence or serendipity take charge?

Suddenly he felt bereft as if he was responsible for this young woman’s passing.

He was invited to attend the private funeral, due to his tender care of their darling.

He sat at the back and prayed he’d live longer than his own Emmy.

A shaft of light came through the stain glass windows and shone on the coffin.

‘Finally she has received her blessing,’ he thought.

In Sunday Photo Fiction each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words. This piece was what I came thought of. If you would like to read how others were inspired please go here.

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