Granma’s room; always dark. Silence, stillness, nothing touched.
Nine years old, the oldest, not the favourite.
Is Granma alright? Maybe tea?
Two cups of bitter, peaty liquid; no milk, no sugar.
“Drink it.”
The leaves drift into symbols.
She frowns.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
The word stains like nicotine.
David Rae currently works with numbers, but prefers working with words.
The clear plastic umbrella lay broken on the side of the road, twisted and forlorn. It looked so sad. Unloved.
And it wasn’t exactly keeping the rain off any more–cold rain that drove in at an angle.
Never mind; it’s not mine, I thought, as the bus pulled away.
Chrissey started writing seriously in May. She now has a second draft novel and material for four sequels. She is part of an online writers’ groups at http://www.kelleyarmstrong.com/forum, and recently challenged her group to come up with some 50-word stories.