The girl died three minutes to midnight close to her dreams. With her cheek pressed against the back-alley-gravel she’d been gazing into the glitz while slipping ever so gently into the warm bosom of an overdose-haze.
Labeled Jane Doe #47, needle-marked, bruised with hair dyed in blue she looked like them all. The coroner pulled up the sheet, showing only her head.
The couple stared through the glass shaking their heads. They pretended to hope but the coroner knew they would be back for #48.
The coroner left them alone and glanced at her phone. Still no message from Tina.
As often i tried to put myself into the darkest part of the picture. The sun look cheerful today, and tomorrow we have a holiday in Sweden.
Friday fictioneers is a community of bloggers who write hundred word stories to the same image every week, it’s curated by Rochelle, librarian, author and keeper of keys, she sets the standard and we follow.
May 9, 2018