When I was five he took me to a section of the compound I hadn’t realised was there. Its gate had many locks and he forced them open, pushing me through the space: there stood an obscene sculpture gone to rust, an oval path circumnavigating it.
“This was all the puffins left when they abandoned the city,” he said. “Everything else they destroyed. They worshipped it as a god.”
“They worshipped a fish-monster?”
“I saw them at it once, processioning around it in the dark, clasping flaming torches, chanting Hallé-butt, Hallé-butt. They believed it would always protect them.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.