All the Conjecture #amwriting

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

All the Conjecture

“She fell. Hit her head.”

It fits. Icy steps and that.

Except.

“Unless those stone whacked her rather than being impassive.”

Murder.

At 2 am the power goes out and truth erupts as if someone injected serum.

“Cow.”

“Beyotch.”

No love lost.

“I loved her,” her ex- says.

“Me too,” says a stranger.

“She hung the moon.”

A high school dance. Women on one side. Men on the other.

“She jumped from the second floor,” a soft voice says.

Silence.

Truth humbles.

Eyes seek eyes, fall away.

“I couldn’t love her,” the soft says.

“You killed her.”

“Maybe not as much as you.”

end

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