Swaying and grunting under the weight, Maggie and Nick dragged the old furniture down into the creek. They trampled through grass and bushes, breaking flower stalks in half and pounding petals into the ground. Deep footprints sank into the mud.
“This is a good place,” Maggie said, coming to a stop.
Nick nodded and let go. Their burden crashed down, the glass cracking and the wood shuddering. Clapping his hands together, Nick grinned.
“No bother of breaking it down, no fees at the dump…” He laughed. “We’ve got our own private skip.”
“Told you there were advantages to living by the creek,” Maggie replied. “Come on, let’s go in and get the other stuff.”
They turned back towards their house: a dilapidated, crooked structure of aged wood perched at the creek’s edge. White paint was being torn away in small flakes, revealing grey-brown wood underneath.
It was only a minute away, but they’d never reach it.
They’d been dumping in the creek for years: bottles, cans, magazines, whatever they didn’t want.
Now the creek had had enough.
A shape emerged from the water. Its bright, river-green eyes glared at the two trespassers.
They never saw it coming.
Word Count: 197
This is my entry for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction.