Here is another (non-winning!) story I wrote a week or so ago for the Ad Hoc Flash Fiction weekly competition. The prompt word was splinter.
Emma said I shouldn’t tell him what I’d done. She was right; what would be the point in telling him now that it was over? Why upset everyone? The time for talking had passed.
But I couldn’t get rid of the pain I carried in my heart. Like a large wooden splinter was stuck there becoming infected, the pain grew worse, not better each day. The burden of guilt was too heavy for me to bear alone.
Emma said I needed to move on with my life. ‘What’s done is done’, she said. She was right, but it’s never that simple. That’s why I decided to tell him in the end. He was the only one I thought would understand my loss. Our loss.
He cried. But as he held me afterwards, I felt the splinter finally begin to shift. I knew I was no longer alone.