I found my spot in the endless line of desperate, lonely, and sick looking humans looking for work.
This post is submitted to the Weekend Writing Prompt.
Your artist had a very distinctive style.
You would think that you deserve a much larger showcase.
A small picture frame for a lady with the famous smile.
In a place where legion of foreign tourists used to jostle for elbow space.
In response to Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge
It was a hot early morning in Havana.
“Where can I find a ride to the museum?” I asked the young man eating a banana.
He was a chatty young fellow.
He pointed to the taxi he called “Sunshine Yellow.”
The night deepened. They were closing in on him. He could hear the hounds wailing just beyond the trees in the distance. The cacophony of the tracking dogs and horses trampling through the woods was putting him into a sheer state of panic. He was unable to rest or stop. His terror was growing by the minute. Planning for his escape had consumed his thoughts the last five years of his imprisonment. His immediate mission was to vanish into the vast Hinderlands of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
This post is in response to the Weekend Writing prompt.
We walked this beach many times. As little girls we promised to be best friends forever. Then came careers, husbands and children of our own. The walks became less frequent. We compared notes on our life’s progress until the pain from the pancreatic cancer became unbearable. Your daughter’s words still haunt me today. “You better come quick. Mom’s dying.”