The causeway extended across the fen into the mist.
“You can see how Alfred the Great escaped the Romans here,” Jane said.
“Vikings,” I said
“Alfred escaped Vikings, not Romans.”
A gust of wind lifted the fog’s cowl. At the exact vanishing point of the causeway, the afternoon sun kindled fire in a pyramid.
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto,” I said. “We should go back, Jane. Now. Or we’ll miss tea.”
She raised her ray gun. “That’s okay. Phasers on stun.”
Hand in hand, we marched forward into the white pre-world of possibility.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here