Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

 

RWISAWatch Write Showcase Tour

Linda Mims

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! Today, I’m sharing a short story by author, Linda Mims.

Solace

by Linda Mims, All rights reserved.

 

Eighteen precocious kindergartners stared as Carly walked into the colorfully decorated classroom. Carly hoped her smile was more reassuring than she felt. Was this a mistake? She spotted two six-year-olds who’d been in her charge on the first field trip she’d chaperoned. They gave her a friendly wave, and a true smile parted Carly’s pursed lips and lightened her heart.

 

Ms. Jones, the principal, asked all of the children to file around and shake hands with Carly, but some of them hugged her around the waist and Carly bent to embrace them. The huggers stared up at her and quickly turned away unsure how to behave.

 

After Carly shook hands and hugged them, she asked their new teacher’s permission to lead them to the circle in the back of the room. She’d read that schools were frowning on seating students on the floor, but their former teacher, Miss Mason, had valued the practice.

 

Miss Mason sat smack dab in the middle of “her kids” and shared her own childhood or read to them from her favorite stories.

 

So, hovering above the painted line, Carly squatted until she dropped. Sitting crossed-legged wasn’t as comfortable or as easy for Carly as the children made it appear. She smiled as they sank to the floor on legs like rubber bands.

 

The children sat on the painted circle touching their neighbors with legs, arms, or elbows. There was no jostling or whining from anyone about invasion of space. They needed to connect in this strange time, so it was okay for someone to sit too close.

 

Two little ones, seated across from Carly, couldn’t stop sniffling, so she held out her arms, and they came over. She pulled them down on either side of her and nuzzled them there. She wanted to join in. Be as free and uninhibited as they, but she held her feelings in check.

 

The children bowed their heads, but a few raised their eyes to cast envious glances at the two burrowed beneath Carly’s arms. She smiled around the room, looking for the ones Miss Mason had told her about. Johnnie, who was the biggest discipline challenge. Grown-ish Jenny of the fresh mouth and Einstein mind.

 

Carly recognized little unkempt Anna who caused Miss Mason enough anxiety to refer her family to DCFS. Diana Mason loved these children, and they loved her. The students spent more time with Carly’s daughter than with their own parents.

 

“Listen and I’ll tell you about the day little Ms. Mason broke the rules and made cookies for herself and her little sister,” Carly said.  “When her father and I were away from home, she wasn’t supposed to fool with the stove, but you guys know how feisty Ms. Mason can be.”

 

“She was a mischievous little girl,” Carly said with exaggerated feeling.

 

One of the little ones giggled and hurriedly stifled it when the others swiveled their heads to stare at her, disapprovingly.

 

“Children,” Carly said. “Ms. Mason would want you guys to smile as you remember her. She’d want you to remember the stories I’m about to tell you and think of her with love.”

 

***

 

Joe Mason waited outside the old brick building where, four years ago, his daughter and some of her colleagues had started their own small school. His wife was inside visiting his daughter’s kindergarten class, but Joe remained in the car.

 

He hadn’t agreed with Carly that this was a good idea. His family had spent a crushing two days grieving Diana’s sudden death and just when—maybe—the weight was easing, his wife sprung up.

 

“Oh God, Joe! Her kids.”

 

“I’m sure someone has told them,” he assured her, but Carly wouldn’t be comforted.

 

“They’re five and six years old, Joe. They don’t understand death. Can you imagine the confusion and anguish for those children? I have to go,” Carly said.

“They need to hear from me and know that it will be all right.”

 

She had made up her mind and Joe didn’t try to talk her out of it. Perhaps she needed this, too. He, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to think about Diana without feeling guilty. There was no peace for him as he shouldered the weight of his daughter’s death.

 

The night Diana died alone in her room, Joe had convinced himself that he’d heard her knocking for help. He’d been dreaming and in the dream, Diana had knocked on the front door. He was upstairs, and he wondered why Carly didn’t go to the door and let their daughter in.

 

She knocked in random succession maybe three times, but when Joe woke, he heard nothing. He lay there for a long while listening and wondering if someone had been knocking on the door for real.

 

It was 1:45 a.m. and outside, the sounds of jazz music told him his neighbor Jimmy was in his parked van, again.

 

Jimmy did that after a spat with his wife, Vanessa. That’s what the knocking had been. A radio commercial. Satisfied, Joe turned over and went back to sleep. It never occurred to him to wake Carly or to go check on Diana. If he had, his daughter could have gotten help, and she’d still be alive.

 

Joe couldn’t tell anyone. Carly and Diana were more than mother and daughter. They were best friends. Carly would never forgive him for, if nothing else, letting her remain asleep. God! The pain of losing Diana, compounded by his guilt, was eating Joe alive.

 

Inside, Carly carried her own guilt. Diana had been working herself to the bone raising money to keep the school afloat. More than just exist, Diana and her colleagues wanted the school to make a huge impact on the lives of their students and their families.

 

Diana wasn’t sleeping. She was losing weight, and more than a few times, Carly argued with her about taking care of herself.

 

“If you don’t take care of your own health, you won’t be any damned good to your students!”

 

“Mom, relax! What am I going to do? Die?”

 

“Your heart, Diana. Please remember your heart.”

 

“I do, mom. I think about my heart all the time. School is the only thing that prevents me from thinking about my heart. Can you give me a break? And don’t go to Dad with your suspicions.”

 

So, Carly gave her a break and she didn’t tell Joe that she suspected Carly was sicker than she was letting on.

 

***

 

“You smell like her,” said a little one who’d scooted over and was hugging Carly from behind.

 

“Let me smell,” said another, peeling his classmate’s arms from around Carly and nudging the child over to squeeze in.

 

“I wanna smell,” cried a young girl who had stopped twirling her hair around her finger and now stood.

 

Soon they clustered around Carly, talking and gesturing. Their little voices serious as they shared stories of the times Ms. Mason had been kind, or funny, or very, very stern. Their beautiful faces weren’t so sad now and they made Carly laugh. An hour passed and the pall over the room lifted.

 

Outside, the breeze blew leaves from the young trees Diana had planted across the grounds. Joe trained his eye on a leaf that floated across his windshield on the gentle breeze. Instead of drifting along, the green leaf frolicked and rolled on the air in front of him.

 

He’d never paid attention to leaves, and he wondered that this one seemed determined to hang right there, tumbling and playing in front of him. While Joe watched, the leaf floated down and lay on the hood as though spent. Then, to Joe’s amusement, it blew flat against his window and stuck there for a few moments.

 

The leaf stood on its stem and Joe bent to see it flutter across the car and brush Carly’s face just as she opened the passenger door. Carly started, then laughed and touched her face. Smiling, without even knowing why, they watched the little leaf fly off over the building and out of sight.

 

**

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Linda Mims RWISA AUTHOR PAGE

 

 

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISAWatch Write Showcase Tour

John Howell

Please allow me to introduce author John W. Howell!

Around WordPress this week, members of the Rave Reviews Book Club will be sharing writing samples and information about other authors in this organization called RWISA, the Rave Writer’s International Society of Authors.  Today, John W. Howell will be sharing one of his short stories.

The Road by John W. Howell (c) 2019

Just a couple more hours and I’ll be able to rest my eyes. Been on this damn highway for what seems like forever. His head slowly nods until the rumble strip noise causes him to jerk awake. “I have been asleep,” he yells. He yanks the wheel, and the tires screech in protest as he swerves back on to the highway. He can feel his heart in his chest and pressure in his eyes. In an instant, he regrets being so weak as to give in to the physical need. He also becomes alarmed since now he knows that sleep could overtake him without notice.  One second, his eyes could be open and the next closed. Thank God for the jarring and noise of the rumble strips since without its alarm, he is sure he would have ended up piled into a tree.

 

As his heart settles down, he concentrates on the road ahead. There’s someone at the side about a half mile away. A hitchhiker by the looks of a backpack. A sign in the person’s hand is not readable at this distance. The thought occurs that It would be a good thing to have someone else in the car to help him stay awake.  Of course, there are dangers in picking up a stranger. As he gets closer, he can see that the hitchhiker is not a guy like he thought. It’s a young woman about his age.  She is wearing some kind of overalls, but the distinctive female form still comes through. He decides to slow down and assess the situation. A girl makes all the difference in trying to reach a decision for or against a pickup. After all, who knows where this could lead? He does know that in all probability, she is not likely to stick a knife in his ribs and demand his wallet after a couple of miles down the road.

 

He eases the car to the shoulder and can’t help kick up some dust in the process. The sign is facing him even as the person turns away to avoid the dust storm he has created. Kansas City in black marker on cardboard is all it says.

 

He opens the passenger door and waves her over. “I’m going to Kansas City. Want a ride?”

The young woman looks back at him, and he can tell she is doing an evaluation on the safety prospects of accepting a lift. She slowly hoists her backpack on to her shoulder and walks with hesitant steps toward the car. She puts her hand above her eyes to cut the glare of the sun and stops short of the door. She leans in. “Did you say you’re going to Kansas City?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I also asked if you would like a ride.”

“That all depends on your intentions?”

“My intentions?”

“Yeah. You are offering a ride. How much will it cost me?”

“Cost you? I’m going to Kansas City. Your sign says Kansas City. Why would it cost you anything?”

“Just want to make sure is all.”

“No charge. I’ve been on the road forever, it seems, and I would welcome the company. My name is James.”

“Sorry, James. I know I sounded a little ungrateful, but I have also been on the road and have met several guys that think I owe them something for a ride.”

“I can understand that. Let’s just say you can ride or not it’s your choice. No other decisions to be made.”

“Fair enough. I accept your offer. My name is Sarah.” She slides in and slams the door.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. You want to put your backpack in the rear?”

“No, I’ll just keep it here in the front with me. You can never tell.”

“Tell what?”

“When I’ll have to bail. Everything I own is in this pack, and I sure wouldn’t want to leave it behind.”

“I get it. No use trusting someone just cause they say you can.”

“Right. I think I like you, James.”

“Wainwright. My last name’s Wainwright. How about you?”

“Not sure I have a last name. I go by Sarah.”

“No last name? How can that be?”

“You going to start this car or is my fear well founded.”

James flushes as he turns the ignition. “Yeah, here we go.” He looks in the side mirror and signals as he pulls back on the highway.

“You are a cautious one. There’s no one for miles.”

“I guess it’s a habit from city driving.” He keeps checking in the mirror until he is up to highway speed

“Where you from, James?”

“New York. You?”

“I think I was originally from down south somewhere.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, it’s been a long time.” She pauses.

James glances at her and sees that she is lost in thought somewhere. Her skin is fair, and she has the high cheekbones and lips of a runway model. She looks vaguely familiar, and he compares her looks to Joni Mitchell. There is that innocent, fragile look that makes you want to take care of her.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” She is back.

“I didn’t say anything. I’m amazed you don’t know where you are from.”

“Well do you remember where you’re from or is it someone told you?”

She has a point. James only knew he was born in Chicago because his parents told him so. He lived in New York for twenty years so unless clued in he would have thought he lived there his whole life. “I guess I should rephrase the question. Where did you last live?”

“Yes, James. That makes a little more sense. I last lived in Dubuque, Iowa.”

“What a coincidence. I am driving from Dubuque. Do you believe that?”

“I can believe that. Someone once said there are only six degrees of separation of everyone on Earth. You and I traveling from Dubuque at the same time certainly falls into that realm.”

“Aw come on, Sarah. We are both going from Dubuque to Kansas City. That has to be more than a coincidence.”

“I never said I was going to Kansas City, James.”

“Wait. You have that sign that says Kansas City.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going there.”

“What does it mean?”

“You think I know?”

“I’m getting a weird feeling here, Sarah. Like you aren’t telling me something.”

“Do you remember swerving after you ran off the highway?”

“What? Back there. Yeah, I remember almost falling asleep. Hey, wait a minute. How would you know about that?”

“Think a minute, James. How do you think I would know about that moment?”

“Sarah I’m too tired for guessing games. What is this all about?”

“Do you feel okay, James?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Look around. Do you see any other cars?”

“No, but I haven’t for a while. What are you trying to tell me, Sarah?”

“You fell asleep James.”

“When did I fall asleep? I know I nodded off, but when did I fall asleep?”

“Just before your car went off the road and you hit a cement culvert.”

“Now, you are joking. Right? Right, Sarah?”

“No joke, James. Look ahead. What do you see?”

“Uh up the road, you mean?”

“Yes, up the road.”

“Nothing but what looks like a sandstorm.”

“It’s no storm, James. It is nothing.”

“Who are you anyway?”

“Do you remember that little girl who went missing in the second grade?”

“Yeah, what does that have to do with you?”

“Does the nickname Jimmy Jeans mean anything?”

“That’s what Sarah called me in the second grade.”

“How did I know that?”

“You wouldn’t unless.”

“Unless I’m Sarah.”

“Oh My God. Sarah. It is you. Where have you been?”

“That’s not important. What is important is you were broken hearted when I vanished. You prayed for my return and made promises to God if only I would come back.”

“I never got over that either. I think of that little gir¾. I mean, I thought of you almost every day. Why didn’t I recognize you?”

“Cause I’m all grown up. There would be no way.”

“Where have you been Sarah. I have missed you so much.”

“Don’t cry, James. I’m here with you now.”

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“No, James, it’s not worth the time.”

“So why now? Why are you here now?”

“To help you, James.”

“To help me. How?”

“To understand what your life is like now.”

“Now? What do you mean?”

“You were in an accident, James. You ran off the road, and I am sorry to say your body didn’t survive. You are now going with me on an eternal trip.”

“You are saying I’m dead. I can’t believe that.  Look at me. I’m just as alive as you.”

“That’s right. You are.”

“Um, Sarah?”

“Yes, James.”

“You are dead too?”

“Yes, James. A man took me from school and killed me. They never found my body.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t think about that now. Think about the future. Because you prayed so hard and missed me so much, I was given the honor of escorting you to the other side.”

“Other side? There’s a Future?”

“A wonderful one.  You and I for all time.”

“I would like that.”

“Take my hand then. Let’s be off.”

“I have more questions.”

“All in good time, James. All in good time.”

 

 

*Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

John W. Howell RWISA Author page

Download this 24 pg., sci-fi short story, free! #scifi

Gutter Angel(2)

Follow this link to download my futuristic, sci-fi short story, Salamanca, Gutter Angel for free.

https://instafreebie.com/free/KKWjb

Salamanca is an eighteen-year-old who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in 2047. What sorts of trouble are impulsive kids getting into in the year 2047? Read to find out.  Is there any hope for the youth of tomorrow?

If you’ve read my most recent novel, Detours in Time, you may recognize Salamanca as the sassy-mouthed girl with interesting body modification that our characters run into on their jaunt to the future.  This short story gives a little more of her background and just what turned this defensive, sassy girl into who she is.

 

Stairway to Heaven, Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. #Fffaw

Photo credit, (c) J.S. Brand

The day was as hot and sticky as a devil’s armpit.  Sasha opened her mouth to complain, but the determination showed in her mother’s face, despite the underlying anguish of seventy-year-old arthritic knees.

“You sure you’re up for this?”  Sasha asked, hoping to turn around.

“I’ve waited all my life,” her mom answered, wiping her brow.

With a shirt drenched in perspiration, Sasha shut up.

“Just wait,” her mom said, gleam in her eyes.  “I’ve seen pictures.”

Crossing the ocean to see this much revered site was her mother’s goal, not Sasha’s.  Yet, the twinkle in her mother’s eye kept her moving, despite the discomfort.

A few more steps…..She grasped her mother’s hand, feeling the dizzying affects of climbing.  Her mother clasped it gratefully.

“We are here,” the tour guide announced.  Stretched out on an endless horizon was a breathtaking view of steep mountains, a lush green valley, and a hawk soaring overhead.

“Heaven,” Sasha’s mother whispered.

Pictures could not do it justice.

~The end~

(Approx. 165 words.)

 

So how does this challenge work?     Find this blogging challenge at  https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/07/17/fffaw-challenge-week-of-july-18-2017/      1.  A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try and stay within this limit.

5. Pingback to the challenge post in your story’s post.

6. This is a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less) and each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Therefore, no serial (continuation) stories. They become too complicated for our readers.

Friday Fictioneers, #flashfiction. Resist.

rochellewisoff.com.janet-webb-french-still-life

Photo credit, (c) Janet Webb.

Overwrought with emotions, Mary took out pen and paper.  Tomorrow the family of the man she was arranged to marry, as was the custom in those days, would visit.

He was a man of means, something she should desire.  He was not the man of her dreams, who’d gallop in, rescuing her from this lecher who’d touched her backside like he owned her.

By candlelight, she wrote a goodbye letter, surrounded by the trappings of femininity.  They’d stay behind.

She stuffed her brother’s clothes into a satchel, grabbing a blade.  Her hair dropped in one swift cut.  Practice pays off.~

 

*Exactly 100 words.

*Directions: Write a story in 100 words or less in response to the photo prompt.  Give the photographer credit.  Enter your link to the inlinkz button.  Respond to others.

*Friday fictioneers is a blog/writer’s challenge hosted weekly by Rochelle at https://rochellewisoff.com/

#FlashFictionforAspiringWriters. I Took the Fall.

Snakephoto-20170703153949475

Photo credit, Kecia Sparlin.

I headed back to the yard with my garden hoe.  I hate killing living things, but this bugger looked poisonous.  He was further back in the brush.

“Sure, you keep your distance now.”  I sat on the ground, sweating.

“You would too, Missssssssss.” His tongue darted out.

I jumped.  “What?”

“Yesssss.  It’ssss me.  Come on, I am alwaysss judged by my outer cover, my ssscales sssso to sssspeak.  It’sss not fair.  All because of Hisssstory, mythology, the Bible, whatever.”

“I’m sorry.”  I looked at him through new eyes.  It had to be a he, though who could tell?

“Yessss.  Imagine what it’sss like.   Way back when, Armadillo sslipped up.  You know he’s a good candidate to stand for evil.  But no, I defended him.  I took the fall for him.”

He actually looked sad.

It seemed he’d started to trust me.  He’d slithered out from the bush.  The garden hoe was resting next to me, forgotten.

Suddenly, he sprang at me, and I was overcome, knocked down.

“S-ssssucker!”

I took the fall.

~The end~

(c) Pamela Schloesser Canepa

 

 

****Approx. 170 words.

From Fffaw:  This is a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less) and each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Therefore, no serial (continuation) stories. They become too complicated for our readers.

A  prompt photo is presented every Monday, and the challenge runs to the next Monday.  Add your story to the InLinkz Link-up (Blue Froggy button). Please let me know if you need link-up instructions.  See other instructions at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/07/03/fffaw-challenge-week-of-july-4-2017/  

 

Free Short Story, appropriate for kids age 7 to 97+. From Lost to Loved, a Stray Dog’s Tale. #shortstory

This was a labor of love.  While I reside in sci-fi and paranormal tales, I’ve loved imagining my dog’s background story.  I also wrote this with my students in mind, hoping to one day share this story with them.  Give it a download and see what you think!

Blurb: What if your adopted shelter dog could tell his story? Have you ever wondered why he freaks out when the kitchen timer goes off, or he gets defensive when he meets a tall man? Consider the origin story of Bixby, as Pamela imagines the long journey of his life before they found each other and he became part of her family. Appropriate for children and adults aged seven and up.

 

Lost to Loved

Available in many digital formats at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/722693

#flashfiction FFfAW challenge. “Michael’s Fairies.”

flashfictionfaeiriesphoto-20170130154651135 Photo courtesy of Jessica Haines.

“Michael’s Fairies,”  (c) 2017

by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

“He wouldn’t come away from the puddles,” Ray complained.  “He kept seeing things in the water.  Fairies, unicorns, …”

“Kids and their imaginations,” I shrugged.  How could I explain?   Ray didn’t understand.  Michael saw things, and that was that.  The rain didn’t matter.

“What took you so long with the teacher?”

“Issues.” I shrugged, offering nothing more.  “Thanks for waiting, though.”

Ray dismissed it with a wave.  “Gotta go.”

Despite two years together, I knew he’d never grace my doorway with his presence again.  And did it matter?  He did not make the cut.

I closed the door.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered.

“Don’t you ever be sorry for being you, honey,” I said with a smile, because I knew that was all Michael had done.  In a few weeks, I’d find a way to explain Ray’s absence from our lives.

Michael put his arms around my neck, and I returned the hug.

 

***Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers presents a new photo prompt challenge every Tuesday, and the challenge is open until the next Monday at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/

I encourage you to enter your own, or go to their site and check out some more stories!

*Stories must be 100-150 words.(+-25)

#flashfiction Friday Fictioneers, “The Road Less Taken.”

busdepotshaktiki-2

Photo credit: PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Cassie stepped off the curb.  “Wait!  Wait!”  A male voice called.

She bristled.  Please, no, not when I’ve made it this far.

A young man approached another young woman next to her.  “I’m sorry,” he said, and embraced her.  Ah, true love.  Or not.

Close call, she thought.

Lord knows, it took enough nerve to get her this far.  She couldn’t stay any longer.  Something in her would die if she did.

The bus, a $50 fare, would get her on her way fast.  Back home.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she whispered, boarding the Greyhound bus, backpack in hand.

~99 words.

Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.  It is awesome, in this blogging community, to see the many different responses that are generated from one prompt or photo.  I encourage you to create your own and click the InLinkz button to add it to the Friday Fictioneers responses!  While you’re at it, go to Rochelle’s link above and check out some of the other Friday Fictioneers’ responses!

#flashfiction “This Time,” #shortstory #fffawchallenge

Photo courtesy of Joy Pixley.flashfictionjoyphoto-20161219154654337

The trail was long and her legs were weary.  Did I do the right thing?  She wondered.  Sure, I had to stand up for myself, end the madness.

A buzzard screeched above.  At least he wasn’t hovering around her.  Soon, it would be dark.  I’ll make it, she kept telling herself.

Ahead, she saw bushes and brush, and beyond them, a silhouette of more bushes and brush.  Where is that darn road?  I should be there soon.  Good thing I wore the comfortable shoes.   She looked down at her reliable Chucks.

The view up ahead looked foggy, like confusion.  It looked hazy and a little like the loneliness she felt.  No, that wasn’t it.  It looked like warrior’s freedom.  It was her release from the man who got behind the wheel drunk and risked both their lives regularly.

His command:  “Shut up or get out!”

Her response this time? A slammed car door and hasty footsteps.

©Pamela Schloesser Canepa

The Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge calls for a short story of no more than 150-175 words in response to a photo prompt.  I encourage you to join the challenge or peruse other flash fiction responses at http://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/fffaw-challenge-week-of-december-20-2016/ .

I find it fun to see how different minds will respond to the same prompt.  Thanks for reading!   I know it’s awfully short, as necessary, but do you get a sense of closure?