Flash Fiction

This was a 300 words or less Flash Fiction and the story had to be inspired by the photo below

He had broken his promise.  The crowd of eager spectators provided incontrovertible proof.  Disguised by a floating mat of kelp she’d watched them since the sky had first blushed in anticipation of dawn’s arrival.
Her mother had been right.  Humans were not to be trusted.  Not under any circumstances.  She had allowed herself to be seduced by his shy glances and even shyer kiss.   She had been deceived by whispered confidences and summer afternoons spent splashing each other in the cove near his cottage.  She bit her lip to control its quivering.
Diving deep, she resurfaced within a moored dory’s shadow.  Closer to the crowd, now buzzing with anticipation.  Scarcely able to believe they were about to see, in all its glimmering piscine flesh, a real, live mermaid.  Some, unable to contain their excitement, had jumped into the water.   
He had told her to meet him here.  Where was he? 
She scanned the shoreline, dotted with genteel ladies shading themselves from the sun, discreetly wicking perspiration from their upper lips with folded hankies.  Surely under those corsets were unladylike trickles of sweat and angry welts made by unforgiving whalebone.  Serves them right, she thought, murdering the gentle giants in cold blood to render lantern oil from their blubber.
There he was.  Perched on a dune, observing.  The filthy coward.
The pain, which had circulated through the chambers of her heart like molten lava, began to cool.  As it did so it hardened, coalescing into something else.   Something powerful, dangerous.
The current strengthened, the waves churned.  A riptide began drawing the floundering swimmers towards the open ocean where a swell was building.
“Henry, get out!” screamed a frantic mother, her eyes darting between her son and the enormous rogue wave gathering on the horizon.
The only survivor was the photographer.
This one was 100 words or less and had to contain the words bubbles, bob, alien, barbecue, wing
Playing Chicken

Air bubbles revealed its stealthy progress below the silken black surface of the lagoon.  I watched, mesmerized.  The sounds of the barbecue drifted through the night.  Laughter, pop-tops releasing carbonation, a screen door slapping shut. 
Twigs snapped on the path behind me.  A girlish squeal was quickly echoed by a masculine chuckle. 
“Follow me, Bob,” she said.
“I’ll go first. I’ve got the flashlight,” he said. 
The beam caught its alien yellow eye, and illuminated my frozen form at the water’s edge.  As the crocodile lunged, my mother’s strong wing enfolded me, bore me away, safe from harm.

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