Torn Dress

The letter fell to the floor twenty minutes before nine.
Smearing lipstick across her tear soaked face, it was clear she had lost her grip.
She sat, one shoe, and waited for the rats to crawl through her forgotten wedding cake mind.

That’s all from the laundry room.  Lost Dream.

 


Forty-two words exactly.  The prompt this week…Is something crawling on me?

fiction literature love words writing Yeah Write

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