There are fresh flowers sitting on the table, not really my favourite kinds but they will have to do for now.
Will I ever get them picked from the garden again?
The boxes are stacked to the roofs, I really don’t know where to start. I can’t find the strength to go forward right now. Everything just feels surreal.
The mantle is bare just like my arms.
Should I put the pictures up?
Are ghosts ever a good part of the present?
The flowers are actually lovely, they smell divine but I miss tiny hands handing them to me.
Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Dale Rogerson, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.