I cannot in good conscience take credit for this horribly morbid story. Lets just say I got it from a friend, an amazing friend with a taste for the weird just like me. She asked me to do it in short story form, I told her I'll write it in 100 words just for her, and she loved it.
I've been itching to do another 100 word dialogue story like Charon and Wyntyr Sacrifice, but I haven't hit a good pair of voices like I did with those stories. Hopefully something comes up soon, the itch is getting pretty strong.
I hope you enjoy this story. To all those who keep checking out my stories, thank you for sharing and for your criticisms as well.
*Edit: Adding pictures to old posts.
*Picture is originally from http://www.blogforbettersewing.com/2009/11/to-thimble-or-not-to-thimble.html
09/16/2013 (Monday)- A Thimble of Interpretation
I went over to
Grandmother Darling’s house, its empty now, furniture covered in cloth awaiting
their new owners.
I miss her.
No more fresh
cookie smells, or stories of adventures with mermaids and pirates. No more thimble kisses, or chasing each other’s
shadows.
I walk over to
her bookcase and pick out my favorite book, one I kept begging her to read
over, and over again as a child. Thumbing
through the pages, I notice an odd bulge, as if the pages were hiding something
between them.
I find a
shriveled up thing with wings…
... looks almost
like a fairy.
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