photo by Samuel Zeller
They gathered to watch the funeral procession high above the bustling street. Whispered conversations on politics, movies, and recipes filled the space scored by piped-in ambient soft Rock. They gathered to watch the funeral procession for someone already forgotten.
kat ~ 10 March 2016
A short, short story in response to the 3 Line Tale Challenge based on the photo above by Samuel Zeller for Sonya of only 100 words. Read other tales or enter your own HERE.
Photo Credit: Louise at The Storyteller’s Abode
The footsteps behind her were persistent. Samantha clutched the camera bag close to her chest. Her heartbeat thudded faster, a dull drone in her ears. Each time she sped up, so did he.
“Just keep moving, Sam. You’ll find the others soon. You only left the tour group for a minute,” she told herself. The air was still, haunting, but for her footsteps and his. She started to sweat. Her lungs were gulping for air as she quickened her pace to a light jog.
The edge of the garden just ahead was surrounded by a wall. Samantha stopped, defeated, realizing the only way to return to the group was to retrace her steps. She mustered every bit of resolve she had, turned, stared intently at the ground and pushed herself forward.
He had stopped walking. As Samantha approached, she could see his shadow, long, dark, looming on the walkway just ahead. “Just walk. No eye contact. You can do this.” The top of his shadow loomed closer…closer…
“Excuse me Miss. You dropped your lens cover.”
kat ~ 10 March 2016
(175 Words)
This story is in response to the Photo Prompt for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) weekly challenge. If you would like to read other stories or enter your own, click HERE. Thanks to PJ (Priceless Joy) for hosting this awesome challenge and to Louise at The Storyteller’s Abode for this great photo! 🙂
“I couldn’t get out of that kitchen fast enough!” June set the box and packing paper on the floor near the fireplace. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip. She knew this was not the end of it but she needed to figure out how to deal with the questions that would surely follow. She looked at her sister’s portrait on the mantle.
“What were you thinking Annie?! You had to know Grace would find it. Of all places to store that blasted letter…a recipe box!”
June busied herself packing photographs. Some of the frames would surely bring a high price at auction but it didn’t feel right removing the photos. No, they would remain intact. She sighed when she took his picture from the shelf, holding it to her heart.
“Oh Tommy, Grace was always meant to be our secret. You didn’t tell Annie, did you? That would explain the letter, right there where Grace was sure to find it.” She held the frame so she could see his face. “You didn’t tell her did you Tommy?”
It was one night. A weak moment. Tom was inconsolable when he arrived at June’s door. Annie was in the hospital recovering from her fourth miscarriage. She had begged him for a divorce, he had said, telling him she was a failure as a wife…defective as a woman. Annie told Tom that he needed more that she could give. He needed a wife who could carry to term the children he dreamed of having. She said it was the best thing for them both.
But Tom didn’t feel that way. He loved Annie with all his heart. They could adopt he had told her. He begged her to reconsider, but her mind was settled. She demanded that he leave, screaming that she hated him, causing such a stir that hospital security had to be called. They escorted Tom to the street. From there he went to the only safe place he knew. He went to June’s.
June poured Tom a glass of wine, then one for herself. As she sat across the table from him she gazed at his strong shoulders crumbling under the weight of his grief. How fragile he looked. How lucky her sister was to be loved so deeply by such a sensitive man.
They talked for hours, mostly about Annie, then about his dreams and hopes, his childhood growing up in the country, and as the wine flowed, June spoke of her dream of becoming a designer.
There was a chill in the air. Tom offered to build a fire. June joined him in the parlor with another bottle of wine. The crackling fire and warmth from the wine swirled around them, through them. Their eyes met. It was only one time…one night that changed everything.
And now Grace knew. Well, she knew that her mother was not Annie.
Three months after that night, June could no longer deny that she now carried within her the child her sister so desperately longed for. She lied to Annie, telling her that the father was a one-night stand, not someone she had ever considered seriously. Eventually June knew what she must do. It was the only way to make things right.
June glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was time for lunch. She called to the kitchen, “Grace, are you at a stopping point? I’m famished,” another lie, “what do you say we head out to the diner. I think we could both use a break.”
“Coming Auntie June. Let me get a sweater.” I’m not going to push it at lunch, but one day I want to hear the truth. I need to know why June gave me to my parents to raise. She owes me that much.
kat ~ 7 March 2016
This entry is by request. Clearly there is more story to tell. Thank you everyone for encouraging me! 😊
To read previous chapters click on the links below:
and the next part…
Photo Credit: memegenerator.net
Those who play it safe
don’t believe in destiny
sometimes *stuff* happens! 🙂
kat ~ 7 March 2016
Prompt Word: Safe – for Haiku Horizon’s weekly challenge. Click HERE to learn more.
(If you would like to read Part 1, here is a link: The Letter ….and…because so many of you asked for it, there is a Part 3…Click HERE.)
I woke to the plunk, plop, plink of the leaky faucet in the kitchen sink. My back and neck ached from having fallen asleep on the floor. The skin on my face was tight, sticky from dried tears.
It felt like a horrible nightmare, except for the crumpled letter still clenched in my hand. I smoothed the wrinkles, wiped the crust from my eyes and read the words again…
Dear Annie and Tom,
You are two of the most amazing people I know. For whatever reason, fate chose not to bless you with children, yet me, who would make a terrible mother, with this beautiful baby girl.
You know I can’t begin to give her the life she deserves. But you two…how wonderful her life would be if you could find it in your heart to take her as your very own.
I promise from this day forward to be simply Auntie June.
I’ve spoken to an attorney who will draw up the papers so we can make it official.
Just one favor is all I ask. May we name her Grace? She will always be Grace to me.
Love Forever,
June
My eyes burned as I fought back tears. I had cried enough this past week. To think losing Mom was the worst thing I could imagine.
“Mom…if you are listening somewhere, you should know, this damn letter will never change who you and daddy are to me. Never.”
But things had changed. I had always believed that I looked like my Aunt June because she was mom’s sister. We had similar tastes and mannerisms. It was all starting to make sense now.
June had pursued a career as an interior designer. She had been featured in popular magazines, commissioned by celebrities, and had her own textile line as well as a chain of retail specialty emporiums. June even hosted her own syndicated radio program. Never married, she had done alright for herself.
Things would be different now that I knew the truth. How could they not be? Sweet, fun Auntie June had now become the mother who couldn’t be bothered by the inconvenience of a child. To think I admired her all these years. I honestly don’t know how I feel about her now. “Numb” is a good word for it. How does someone give up their own child?
“Get a grip, Grace. You’ve got to finish what you came here to do.”
But what am I going to say? How am I going to act when she comes over today to help me pack? I wish I hadn’t invited her. I don’t need this. Maybe I should call and cancel.
I pulled myself up from the floor and started a pot of strong coffee. While it was brewing I took a quick shower, changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and tied my hair up off my face.
Always prompt, June arrived at exactly 9 am, carrying a box of fresh pastries.
“Hello Grace dear, how are you doing this morning? Were you able to get any sleep last night?”
“Well, Aunt June, it was a rough night. I started packing up the kitchen.” Knowing was making me crazy. “I’m keeping Granny’s silver flatware and tea set.”
“Oh, those are definitely keepers, Grace. They’ve been in our family for almost a century.”
“And Mom’s recipes. I’m thinking about compiling them into a book.”
“Wonderful idea, Grace. I’ll definitely want a copy of that. Would you like a danish?”
I was never one for beating around the bush, “And you’ll never guess what else I found…a letter to Mom and Daddy…” I said, searching her face.
“What letter is that, Grace?” June looked away.
“You know the one, June. You wrote it, in fact.”
“I did?”
“Yes.” June glanced back at me. I looked straight into her blue eyes…the same blue with dark violet edges as mine.
Her face flushed. I could tell she knew.
“I think I’ll head into the parlor with a box and some packing paper. Quite a few family treasures in the parlor you know. You keep working in the kitchen, Grace. We can break at noon and head downtown to the diner for lunch. Is that okay with you?”
And just like that, I knew I had another family member to bury this week. Not literally of course. Some secrets are best kept…secret, I suppose. But how I wished we could have talked about it. Maybe one day.
kat ~ 7 March 2016
This short story is Part 2 of “The Letter”, both in response to Ronovan Writes Friday Fiction Challenge. This week’s prompt is: “A Lie is Told”
like mercury colliding... 