I fear I may be predictable this week, darlings, and I pray you’ll forgive me.
I had to trim this down to 100 words, so I hope it doesn’t lose its… ahem… punch.
Sorry I haven’t been around the last few — I’ve been writing up a storm with my serialized novel (shameless plug) and promoting the release of Memoirs of a Dilettante Volume One (yet another shameless plug) as well as dropping a couple of e-books in the last couple weeks (and the shameless plugs just keep rolling).
All this to say, I haven’t managed to really participate in the Fictioneers, and I thought it high time to correct that, even if what I’ve written isn’t exactly revolutionary thinking.
Great picture by Janet Webb this week though… I recognize that painting in the background – Janet once told me she imagined that’s what I looked like!
When Elsa discovered that Martin was married, she’d gotten an abortion. The baby that had been growing inside her was replaced by a cold bitterness that demanded revenge.
She brought the strawberries to the restaurant, slipping them into a pitcher of sangria intended for Martin and his wife.
“Inject this into the berries,” the old woman had told her, “it’s completely tasteless.”
Later, as Elsa waited tables, she glanced over at Martin, and dropped her tray in horror.
Two fair-haired children sat laughing, lips smeared red with strawberries.
Elsa walked over, poured herself a glass of sangria, and sat down.
Friday Fictioneers is a community of writers — be sure to take part in the community as best you can be reading others’ stories HERE