Memento
The day Lucinda turned nine, her father appeared at the back door. She hadn’t seen him in two years. When she opened her mouth to speak, he put his finger to her lips. Where’s your mother? Upstairs. Come with me, he said. Let’s go to the fair. His car smelled like dirty clothes. They had one hour before the police arrived. As her mother ran toward her, black hair flying in the wind, mouth open, Lucinda turned. He was gone. She shoved the photo they had taken in the booth deep into her pocket just as her mother reached her.
Photo Credit: Ian Sane
solid writing and so much cover so quickly – thanks for the picture you paint and character you give us with Lucinda
Wonderful story, and thank you for using my picture through the Creative Commons. I’m honored! =)
Wonderful!
Beautiful writing; so much said in 100 words.
Beautiful.
really nice…
So wonderful!
That’s beautiful, Sarah. I never heard this one before.
This one is really good, all of it, and I especially treasured those last sentences, beginning with “They had one hour … .”