It was during a school field trip, thirty years ago, that I discovered the prehistoric axe-head. We were down amongst the boggy fauna of the river’s littoral, when something glinted in the sunlight and caught my eleven year old eye.
Of course, I realise now, had it really been an archaeological find of significance then no one would have allowed me to keep that weathered piece of flint. But for years I would keep it under my pillow and dream of caveman heroically hunting woolly mammoths and snarling sabre toothed tigers.
Yet even now, as a responsible father of two, I still wake wide-eyed and breathless from those lucid dreams, grunting incomprehensibly at my startled wife. And now, holding that flint in my hand, I can’t recall, for the life of me, if those blood-like smears were on it when I’d first unearthed it all those years ago.
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Inspired by word-of-the-day littoral
