PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
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Rosemary for Remembrance
What would you say true love is?
Many say it’s fragile. I believe it’s strong, persistent, timeless.
The rosemary my great-grandfather planted, remembrance for the bride he lost in 1918 to the pandemic, thrives.
I note your apathy.
Let me convey a fact about rosemary: it cannot survive Vermont winters. Yet, almost 100 years after planting, this fragrant herb of the Mediterranean flourishes next to the grave of his beloved. Even in a hospitable climate, this would be a feat.
His diary said: “I fell in love at first sight and will love her with my last.”
Rachel grabbed the sleeve of Andy’s shirt to tug him out of earshot. “Your mother has an accent?”
Andy shrugged. “Sure. Didn’t I mention?”
“No. I would have remembered.”
Andy frowned. Her tone sounded far more irritated than the situation dictated.
“Is it a problem?” he asked.
Rachel nodded. “Probably. My family is not the forgiving type.”
“Forgiving? What?” Realization flooded over Andy. “You’re kidding. My mother wasn’t even born then.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rachel said, her lips set firmly.
“Get over it. She’s not from where you think she is.”
“She has the accent.”
Annie on the run! With Buffy. Did you think I’d leave Linc’s dog there when I had no idea who or what I was up against? I really didn’t think they’d care about hurting a dog when they were murdering people right and left.
I’m at the old Hulver place. It’s abandoned, but there’s a semi-roof and there’s a kitchen and don’t ask me why or how, but the propane tank still has juice so I fry up some eggs that I took from Linc’s house.
Buffy seems to think that this is a great treat. I keep it in the back of my mind to tell Linc to spend more time with his dog.
The nice thing about the Hulver place is that it’s on the ridge above Linc’s place so I can sit on the front porch (or what’s left of it) and have a clear view of Linc’s.
It took Buffy and me thirty minutes to hike here. I cooked for five. The telephone rang forty minutes ago at Linc’s.
I wish I had binoculars because when a vehicle pulls up at Linc’s I have no idea what it is except it’s dark, which pretty much matches most SUVs in Carderiff County, you know, except for mine because I don’t freaking drive an SUV. Two people emerge from the SUV, one goes to the door, the other circles around back.
I am too far away to see who they are. I thought hiking up here was a good idea, and it was to the extent that Buffy and I are safe, but I can’t make out who these people are. Then suddenly flames erupt around the house and the two figures dart back to the SUV. Dust rises as the tires roar and the SUV skitters onto the road and vanishes. The house roars with flames that I almost think I can feel here, almost a mile away.
I sit with Buffy at my side, my mouth open because two people who I may or may not know just thought they’d killed me. Buffy licks my chin. Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t leave you behind either.
Photo Jade M Wong
Last week I was last. This week I am first. The same characters. Another dragon. Maybe a Mea Culpa? Probably a Mea Culpa. Don’t all stories with puns require a Mea Culpa?
Sunday Photo Fiction⇐this is the link if you want to participate.
Thank you to Alistair at Sunday Photo Fiction as always for providing this prompt! To read more stories for this prompt, click here.
We’ve made it clear that his building a Viking boat in the backyard is not an event deserving reoccurrence.
Now Erik’s built a clock with a fire-breathing dragon on top about to fly away at the stroke of midnight.
I do a face palm because I cannot envision having this creation, regardless of how beautiful it is, staring back at me, or heaven forbid, my mother, during a formal dinner.
He grins in that way he has, his blue eyes mischievous, his smile wide, his teeth so white. My dear geeky scientist with an IQ that is off the charts hovers innocently.
He shrugs. “Because often the time just seems to drag on.”