As always, many thanks to our gracious and multi-talented Rochelle who faithfully sets up the stage for Friday Fictioneers to exercise their quills and keyboards and shows us how a story can be told in 100 words.
Thank you Kent for the intriguing photo that made me think of other symbols.
Maria is moving.
Tired and lost, she watches her life piled up on tables and chairs, spread out, hung on doors…
Her eyes run along remnants of china, linens, books… then stare at strangers coming and going.
Why are these people here?
For the garage sale, Mama, remember?
Yes. She nods.
Is Julio coming?
No Mama. Papa left when I was four, remember?
Yes. Her eyes close.
A woman fingers her wedding tablecloth of white cotton with blue thread embroidery… and grey wine stains.
Maria never could wash them out of her life either.
For two dollars a stranger buys her shame.