The Skylight

Photo prompt: © J Hardy Carroll

 

She always loved that skylight. The one thing she’d insisted on when they’d rebuilt the old farmstead. Every day since, the sun streamed in or the rain puttered on or clouds swam above, transforming the indoors into a moving tapestry.

They’d kept the bones of the building, but the roof had been rotten. It needed redoing.

Like her bones.

She lay on the flagstone floors, sauce dripping onto her from where she must have upset the pot as she’d slipped and fell and something in her broke.

The skylight her only companion. The light fading. The day still long.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

A Moment Before

three line tales, week 169: San Jose

Photo: Peter Gonzalez via Unsplash

 

There will not be another night so drenched in sorrow, bereft of even the wish for the downpour to turn hope. Yet they held to the moment right before the speeding motorbike intersected their car … and bled their child to no more.

 

 

 

Note: dedicated to those who know this loss, and to the hope that fewer will ever do.

For Three Line Tales #169