(100-word flash fiction)
She grabbed the red-ink pen as though it was a dagger.
The blank, white page looked like a virgin, innocent and
waiting.
When she put pen to paper, words flowed as though blood were
pouring from her fingers. Her mother’s words were dim in her memory, “words can
heal or they can kill.”
She didn’t care. For her these words were like a vicious blood
clot, cutting off supply to her life, choking, almost killing her. Blood had to
be let.
And hand delivered.
She drove to his house. Outside, there was an open ambulance
with a covered body inside.
~~~
I wrote this story for the weekly Friday Fictioneers fix at Rochelle's blog. I have been a bit behind posting on Blogger. Need to catch-up :)
~~~
