Paintings And Promises

‘Lot three hundred-and-eighty-two.’

Alexi’s head picked up at the auctioneer’s words. Not much, just a slight twitch that shows she’s still paying attention and has been for the last three-hundred-and-eighty-one lots.

‘This one,’ she says, handing the paddle across to the tall man beside her. She’s short herself. Four foot eleven with dark hair that reaches her waist when loose but currently curls round itself in a tight knot at the top of her scalp.

The tall man nods and turns the paddle over in his hands.

‘Now,’ says the auctioneer. ‘This particular lot…’

Alexi blurs out the voice, focusing instead on the rotating wall beside the auctioneer’s podium .She sucks in a breath as her father’s face stares back at her. The bidding starts.

‘Remember, wait for the field to thin.’

The tall man nods again and puts his hands behind his back, hiding the paddle.

Alexi continues looking at her father, high cheekbones, thin lips, blue eyes, all features that he passed onto her three hundred years before. All of a sudden she feels old.

‘Now,’ she says and the tall man raises the paddle.

The auctioneer sees them and take the bid but another figure has raised the price in seconds.

‘M’am?’ Alexi hears the concern in his voice. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Keep biding,’ she orders. ‘I’ll have him back, one way or the other.’ The man nods and raises the paddle again.

A promise is a promise and Alexi was determined to keep her’s.

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Written For The Daily Prompt: Paint


    1. Quick tip. If you’re commenting on blogs just to get views on your own blog, try and at least make it sound like you took something from the writer’s piece and less like an add. This comment got tagged as spam.


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