As a little white rabbit said “I’m late, I’m late…”
But I managed to pull something together eventually. The thing about Friday Fictioneers is the big hook, once you’re on you just don’t want to wriggle off! The photo this week is courtesy of Lora Mitchell and the Friday Fictioneers are lovingly corralled each week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Word Count: 100
Martha stares out at the city one last time.
Seems she is always waiting.
She had waited for a husband to love.
She had waited a while for their first child.
She had waited in vain for their second.
She had waited for her husband to love her as she loved him.
She waits for the bus, holding one bag and one silent child, ‘can’t have any more that don’t speak’
She waits at her mother’s door for the comforting arms that will hold them both; for the heart that is bigger than the ocean, to envelop them in love.