She knots the pretty scarf around a branch already rippling with countless strips of fabric. The oldest are only rags now, ghosts of forgotten hopes and desires. She whispers her wish against the gnarled trunk before driving away, leaving the murder weapon to flutter and fade like every other dream.
Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.
Good opening line! Keep going!
I’ve been writing about my mother this morning–she would have been 101 today. She left many flags of distress on our family tree. Thank you for your clarity.
Wow! Nicely done.
Powerful little story with a gut-punch ending! Well done!
Good job! Well crafted. “Killer” ending.