The Boulder Weekly is having a “101 Word Fiction Contest”. I submitted the below story this morning. You know, of all genres of stories and films, I have to say that horror or supernatural or suspense are my least favorite. Sandy, on the other hand, loves those kinds of stories, and struggles with unresolved psychological family dramas where everyone is miserable and nothing is ever certain at the end. These are my bread and butter. So we have a healthy tension there.
My favorite part of writing this short bit is that it is over.
The grey house tilted in the early evening fog. Sigrid’s aunt Beatrice sat, still and cold in the rocker, her eyes closed. Sigrid answered the door to emergency men in heavy coats, damp from the mist. Red lights washed the house.
“She’s resting now.”
“Ma’am, please let us inside. You will need to come with us.”
“I don’t understand. It’s almost dinner time.”
Two ambulance men escorted Sigrid to the waiting vehicle.
“Please, she needs me.”
A thin breeze lifted the fog and dried leaves swept the rocky drive.
From the house came a frail voice.
“Sigrid, where is my tea?”