I have been absent and treading water: NYC, Boston, Cape Cod, Tel Aviv, Port Townsend, Bainbridge and now Denver; in the past 8 weeks I’ve been home for 4 days! Each week I see the photo prompt, delivered generously and regularly by the indomitable Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and I’ve had to pass. No time. Today, I saw this beautiful image, with the date–– and the story was waiting. It took me minutes to type it out. I’m looking forward to getting back into a regular FF groove; I’ve missed my Flashy friends!
If you would like to join Friday Fictioneers, or read the other fantastic 100-word stories, check out Rochelle’s blog Addicted to Purple. As always I welcome honest, constructive feedback. Please leave a comment, and tell me what you think.
97 Words of Grief
There was no time to pack our boats for passage to the next realm.
We gathered our possessions that morning, with little thought of endings or goodbyes, in briefcases, purses and bags–– packed the same way day after day, with no anticipation of crumbling Trade.
The contents of these bags–– floating on debris clouds and caught in an otherwise perfect bluebird sky, rained down on shocked faces. Identification was sifted from dust and particles left, DNA the only marker for many.
Just another day, until that moment… now rusted metal and three numbers scar our collective memory.
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