image: fragrantica.com
Carmine spread the fuzzy, orange blanket out so pristine, he was sure he could bounce a nickel off it.
Everything had to be perfect.
He walked gingerly over to the bedroom window to peek outside to the street. The sun was shining bright, just as the weather man had assured him last night it would.
His eyes darted over the room. The framed photos of flower gardens, the knick-knacks of dolphins and starfish on the black iron shelf in the corner by the door.
He looked at the dresser with the brass colored tray atop the white doily his mother had made when she was eighteen. He had heard that story a hundred times. If only he could hear it once more.
The dust fell away as he slid his fingers down the edge of the dresser toward the bottle of Wind Song just to the edge of the tray. His hand stopped just short of it.
“Why, Ma?” Carmine whimpered as he looked to the closet where her favorite red sweater hung.
He stood silent as he waited to hear her voice one more time. Just once more.
There was no answer, no chirping bird, nothing.
Carmine shrugged and walked out of the room.
It was time to go talk to the detectives again.
Wow! Now I want to know what happened and what’s going to happen. 🙂
🙂 I’m glad.. if I think of it, maybe I’ll do a sequel.. at the moment, I don’t know the rest of the story.
Such good description, lulled me nicely until that twist.
Thanks, Mike.
Ooooh that is good. I love it already. It works perfect as a piece of stand alone flash fiction but could also just as easily be a scene in a novel or short story.
Wow, thanks, Alex.
Ooo, I like! You definitely have my interest. Loved the touch with the Windsong. That’s what I used to wear when I was young. Now it’s the name of a clipper ship in my novel. 🙂
Interesting… I love when people use memories in their writing. 🙂
Intriguing!
Thanks!
Just a whisper………..
🙂 I miss Gram