You can call it gloom or darkness, but when Colton left her at the altar Elsinore named depression twilight. She hated daylight and craved for clouds. There were days when she almost left her mother’s home, but mostly she just lingered in her room. Her mother fed her, washed her, brought her news. But Elsinore just mourned.
“Maybe he forgot the time,” her mother said.
Elsinore just shrugged.
“… maybe he ran out of gas,”
Elsinore stayed silent.
“Or maybe he was murdered.”
Elsinore smiled for the first time in weeks and said:
“Could we go shopping for a headstone then?”
Of course the first thing I saw in the image was the silver lining in the image, and that’s all that I took from the wonderful image. At the end I think my story could be classified as black humor.
Friday Fictioneers is a group of authors and bloggers who write stories each week. Rochelle provide the picture and sets the standard.
March 1, 2017