This is my response to Velvet Verbosity #391. The challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the word ‘wharf’
Jennifer was paler than the locals, though the skintone and strong brow that linked her to them was evident.
Their scrutiny was unbearable and she wondered if replacing ships with supply planes had left this island more isolated than ever. It seemed they seldom saw outsiders, and there were no women out in public.
Her father, widowed when her mother died in childbirth, had been afraid to come back here with Jennifer.
Jennifer picked some decaying wood from the crumbling wharf and placed it in the urn.
‘I’m sorry Papa,’ she whispered. ‘I promised I’d take you home. But I know you wouldn’t like it here.’
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