Simon tried to apply pressure to the crude bandage on his ribs without slowing down. Blood was seeping slowly through the cotton and every step brought a fresh knife of agony from the gaping wound.
Thrashing in the trees—they’re still coming. Grinding his molars, he kept moving as quickly as his feet could stumble. A break in the jagged wood ahead revealed a miniature white building, some sort of tiny chapel. A church meant hallowed ground.
Simon grinned and lurched at the chapel, shuffling his way to salvation.
The shadows closed in violently. The brass placard at the door read: “The First Reformed Church of Voodoo Pharmacology.” Deliverance denied and Papa Legba laughed.
114 words, inspired by this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt:
ParkInkSpot 
All right, I freely admit this week’s prompt didn’t tickle my fancy very much.
All the same, I like your take on the prompt. You played with both Simon’s and the reader’s expectation very well.
Tried to have a little fun with it. But that pic just had me stumped for several days. “What am I gonna do with this one?”
I apologize. I was running out of photos to use for the prompt. I have received some new photos so hopefully next week’s will be more inspiring to you.
What? No, not your fault. I’ve run across many, many prompt photos that just didn’t “do it” for me. Life goes on, next week will always be better.
Okay, I thought it was because of it being a church. Thank you for explaining it to me.
Sounds like Simon is in a lot of trouble then.
This little building doesn’t seem to be what he was hoping for, no.
I thought this was sad that he was turned down from being able to enter the place he thought of as his safety. For not liking the prompt you came up with a great story. 🙂
Well, thanks. I’m my own worst critic, of course.
I think most of us are. 🙂
Of all the churches in all the world, he had to stumble across that one in his hour of need.
Nicely done!
Very good place to end. If he would have had his gris-gris bag with him, maybe he makes it.