Amy scrubs the farm potatoes; water browns. Grips the vegetable brush, knuckles white; scrapes off marks, blemishes, turning them pure, clean.
The potatoes smell of lingering looks, hidden kisses, regret. She rinses away that night, but a layer of residue remains as her husband’s tires crunch gravel on the driveway.
Ellen Townsend is an art teacher and writer. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine, Fairfield Scribes, 50-Word Stories and others.
Fabulous flow and depth.
Thank you for reading it and your comment.
Great work with the detail choices. Very well done!
Thank you! And thank you for reading it.
Excellent. This is what 50 is supposed to do.
Thank you for your comments and reading it.
My knuckles sting from where I rubbed them with the potato peeler! That last sentence clinches everything into place.