Thank you, Rochelle, for providing us with Friday Fictioneers!
I don’t think I’ve ever felt bad about one of my Friday Fictioneers stories before, but I guess I have about my last one. I didn’t go over it the 552 times that I usually do, which meant it had gaps. Continue reading
Okay, I just have to say that a fox is screeching really scarily as I write this intro and upsetting Louie the loaner dog.
Thank you Friday Fictioneers for keeping me out of trouble.
Nevertheless we carry on.
You are my sister.
From my first memory to 21 I semi-trusted you. I respected you. I even thought, sometimes, I loved you although you were as disparate from me as a penguin and canary.
You tossed that in the toilet with the first man you met.
“Rachel? My little sister? No significance.”
I heard your words the other day repeated by your girlfriend, not your boyfriend.
It occurred before my book reading.
I shrugged, lit a cigarette, which I seldom do anymore.
Life is short.
A shot of bourbon.
My words rang true.
Sascha Darlington 12/4/2017
Thanks to Rochelle for providing us with Friday Fictioneers!
In The Way
Old Lady Henderson was the widow of a World War II hero.
Her house, with uneven pine floors, built in 1790, belonged to a famous Civil War historian.
Abraham Lincoln spent several evenings with the Custuses here strategizing possible outcomes.
The stone fireplace shows exquisite handiwork.
A tunnel leads to the nearby park, once a dense forest.
“Get rid of it,” says Morgan Baum.
Old Lady Henderson refuses to let it be torn down: so much historical value!
At the end of Morgan Baum’s day, the only thing left standing is an old stone fireplace and a tunnel.
Sascha Darlington 11/20/2017