Silver Chip

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT- © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The fog was lifting as she looked out her kitchen window.

Thirty days ago she woke up from her own little fog of a nightmare. When THAT fog lifted she did not know where she was or who  was the person beside her in bed. She noticed her special red dress beside the nightstand.

Quickly dressing, and without disturbing her bed mate, she left the room.

She walked two blocks before she could hail a cab.

She made a pledge  that this was the last time this would happen.

Tonight, at the meeting, she would pick up her silver chip.





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