He didn’t trust his his eyes. So he watched and waited. And when he was sure he called out, “Baba, Baba, it’s land. I see it.”
His father raised himself up on his elbows so he could see over the side of their dingy. He looked, then dropped back down, weakened by days of foul weather and lack of food. “I am glad, my son,” he murmured. “Now we can start to build a new life for you, to help you get a future.”
“And for you too, Baba,” said the boy, “For both of us.”
They were both quiet, both thinking about the terrible journey, how they had been cheated, how the rest of the family had been lost, taken by hunger, taken by the sea.
The boy watched carefully as the tide and currents slowly carried them towards the coastline, towards sanctuary. Eventually he could make out the crowd of people watching them. Standing and watching.
“They can see us, Baba. They have a telescope. They see us and are waiting. We are saved,” sang the boy.
And on the quayside, the people stood without speaking. Watching, waiting. Only the flags moved, blowing in the wind.
This for Sunday Photo Fiction 200 word challenge.