The End

Screams from inside forced the woman – visitor, friend – through to the master bedroom. She froze before the scene.

“No-” a child, face of horror, backed away from the bed, “I tried to stop…it wouldn’t- let me…”

On the bed, the child’s mother gasped for breath, “knew…I shouldn’t have-” she clutched her throat, blood spilling out over her silken bed-shirt, “have- kept you.”

“Please-” the child sobbed, tears streaming, “it made me…”

Something snapped inside the onlooker, she ran to embrace the child.

“I’ve got you,” she said, “I’ll never let her hurt you again.”

And the child breathed.

© 2021 Rebecca Glaessner


February 25 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the word frozen. It can be descriptive, character focused, action driven. Go out onto the ice and find a frozen story. Go where the prompt leads!

Submissions now closed. Read the full collection here.

If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting the author via ko-fi.

Lost

The man took his eyes off his son for a moment, vision filled with the semi-transparent, augmented display of his son’s latest medical assessment.

They still didn’t know what was in his son’s head. What had changed him.

Then his son was taken.

The man looked away for only one, single moment.


Years passed. Labelled as grief-stricken, helpless, the man never stopped searching.

Not for one day. Not ever.

Then a woman came to see him, with her own daughter, and an air of hope surrounded them.

“My daughter’s been changed too,” the woman said, “she’s heard your son.”

© 2021 Rebecca Glaessner


January 21, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that rephrases “light at the end of the tunnel.” Think of how the cliche replacement communicates a hopeful ending and aligns with your character or story. Go where the prompt leads!

Submissions now closed. Read the full collection here.

If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting the author via ko-fi.

Invincible

Mind cycling through the daily routine, I slowly slide off the bed. I waddle around with my swollen belly, pain erupting from inconveniently placed baby kicks.
I feed the animals, step back inside, breathe. Head spins from standing too long washing dishes. Turn on washing machine, more pain; crouch down, turn, bend, breathe.
I waddle up the stairs. Panting at the top, I head toward the girls’ room.
“Good-morning Mum-mum!” my three year old squeaks, “cuddle, please!”
I embrace her.
She nuzzles into my chest, “I love you thousands and millions!”
My heart swells and I feel invincible again.

© 2015-2021 Rebecca Glaessner


If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting the author via ko-fi.

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