Her gnarled knuckles ache with the pain of age and cold as she directs the brush this way and that across the upright canvas. Darkness is her comfort, her old friend, her nightly blanket. Darkness because eyes clouded by cataracts require no light by which to see.
I recently found myself with an hour or two of spare time, and decided to not only partake in Chuck Wendig’s weekly Flash Fiction Challenge, but also to continue my story from last week. In a very “OMG, what did you do to my fairytale/fable?!?!?” way. In 1991 words, too, which is a whole 9 words less than the word allowance! Back by popular (?) demand, is Detective Roxanne Hood, on the… Read More