“Of all the things I said and all the things I thought to say, I know now the one thing I should’ve.” He read the words scrawled on a single page by a shaky hand. “I am proud of you.” This was the only message in the journal that arrived a week after his estranged father passed.
– Written for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales #130. Photo prompt and 280 characters or less. CC 279. Photo by Marc Schäfer at Unsplash.com.
She wore a black hood; black as night, dark as death, so she could hide among the shadows in the alley, the blind spots behind lampposts, and in the corners of your room. When your heart missed a beat, and your breath wouldn’t come, know that fear had stolen them for herself.
Imprinted memories of a home I’ve never seen flash behind my eyes and my awakening begins. Earth served only as a sort of nursery school. Now it’s time for my extraction, and I am prepared. I scan the horizon for the vessel.