short story sunday

The sun felt heavy, weighted. She tipped over on her side, feeling the grass struggle against her weight. Margaret always lined herself up with the opening in the fence. It seemed more logical that way. She imagined that if a camera looked down at her from above, her placement in the grass would appear as a neat piece of a grid. The idea of it satisfied.

She reached out her hand and pressed it between the blades of green. The scar that stretched sleepily across her palm looked nearly transparent in the daylight. Sometimes it felt like it itched but she knew that wasn't possible. Still, when her mind traveled back to that day the skin around it tightened and she would rub it mindlessly.

She shut her eyes and rolled onto her back, letting the day color the insides of her eyelids a rosy pink orange. And she waited.

Margaret waited. For that moment that she was promised. In the meantime this field would do, she thought as she drifted off into a mid day dream.






Short Story Sunday is a series of mini stories based on random photos. They are quick, spontaneous flashes of abstract fiction.