Brechan’s Kettle

In the dark days, the days at the nadir of despair there is sometimes the urge to up sticks and run. Sometimes never to return, most times imply to regain one’s equilibrium. Thus when the year had turned and the black dog of February was upon her, she simply up and off to where she knew not.
The romance had been short and not quite sweet. Downright sour a the close. The scars were deep and the taste bitter. she had to get out, get anywhere.
She had never been to Jura. She had never had any reason to go to Jura. She once heard that Jura had the highest concentration of venomous snakes in the world. even higher than the Amazonian rain forest. She wondered if that was true, it seemed unlikely.
The cottage was at the north end of the island. It seemed the very place to be alone for a few weeks until the dark clouds passed and she could once  more join the human race. When she arrived all was still. She walked to the crest of a hill where she could look over the sea to a little island whose name she knew not.
For a while, all was still. then she perceived a motion in the waters between Jura and the unknown island. Gentle at first, then increasing. She thought that some sea monster would appear at any moment but no physical presence was to be seen. the waters began to swirl and roar she became alarmed. A huge whirlpool had appeared between the two islands. When the fear passed and she was certain that she wasn’t about to be devoured, she marvelled at the sight and sound. Until today, she had never heard of Corryvrechan, Brechan’s kettle.

by Jane Helen Jones
What were your prompts?: Whirlpool, cottage, romance.


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