by Lucile McKenzie
For the third time, he lifted her out of the lake. She gagged, coughed, then drew in huge, frantic gulps of air. Holding her dripping body, he let her stand shivering in the turbid water. He smiled when he saw the stark terror in her eyes, the pleading, desperate hope that he would tire of this game and let her go. Once more he forced her under the water until tiny air bubbles made their way to the surface, then vanished. Still smiling, he waded to shore without looking back.
Lucile McKenzie writes both fiction and non-fiction. She likes to write flash fiction because she's blessed with a short attention span.