Okay, the truth is, she won’t let me call her a writer. My daughter, code-named Spunky, has a sharp wit and a great imagination, but she’s determined to go into missions or ministry.
Nevertheless, she’s agreed to let me post her most recent assignment for her college English class. The students were given a picture of an old house, much like the one you see, and a list of Halloween-type words they couldn’t use. This was her 20-minute offering.
If you enjoy her flash fiction, please leave her some love!
“Gone but not Forgotten,” Jane read the words from her beloved Aunt Ruth’s tombstone out loud.
“I know I should have come sooner; I just couldn’t bear the thought of you not being here.” Jane pulled her sweater closer to herself as a chilled wind rustled through the yellow leaves. She turned to face the place she feared.
The screen door had fallen partially off its hinges. The beautiful yellow paint was almost completely stripped away. Oh, how she had loved this place when she was young, always so warm and inviting. Now it was dark and cold.
She turned back to the grave, “I should have been here for you; if I hadn’t ditched you for my friends, you would still be here.” Jane wiped an unwanted tear from her face. “I know you wanted me to take care of this place, but I don’t deserve it. I let you down. It’s my fault.” Her voice broke at her last word, and she collapsed to the ground weeping.
It had been three years since Ruth had died. The doctor said it happened in the kitchen. One minute she was baking cookies; the next her heart stopped. Aunt Ruth had died alone.
“I should have been here; I could have saved you.” Shaking Jane stood, and walked back to her car. Opening the trunk, she pulled out a toolbox and a bucket of yellow paint. “I’m here now. I’m done hiding. I will not let you or this place down.”
Her knees wobbled as she climbed the steps. Setting the toolbox down, she removed the screen door, grasped the door handle, took a deep breath, and stepped in.