It’s sunrise. Cold. She’s still asleep; a child, beaded and with dreadlocks; she’s fashionably trashed but judging from the needle-marks on her forearms the search for veins has been successful.
She’s changed since I left town, since Linda threw me out.
“Bring me along”, out of breath; she had been running, pigtails bouncing, in her best pink dress.
“Can’t sweetie, go back to mom”
“I hate you both”, her eyes dulled, “I hate you”.
Her breath is shallow now; I caress her cheek, So soft, and wonder how I can redeem myself. She opens her eyes, smiling.
It’s sunrise.I imagined what I didn’t see in the picture, what might be found slightly to the left of the viewfinder, and from that the story progressed. I also wanted to try the stylistic trick of ending my story with the same words I started with, and hopefully the meaning has changed. For me this is an extremely positive story, so I hope you appreciate my effort of writing happy endings.
Friday Fictioneers is a group of people who writes pictures to the same image every week, under the skilled leadership of Rochelle. Some of the best online short fiction writers gather every week to grow their storytelling ability.
May 18, 2016