As promised, another flash fiction for your Friday morning – or whenever it is you happen to get around the reading this.
This piece, from a prompt given for 250 words set in the time of the Gold Rush:
Mud weighed Gen’s skirts down as she sped down the boardwalk, ignoring the catcalls of the miners surrounding her. She knew when she accepted the job at the Walton’s that the distance might be a problem, but she hadn’t anticipated risking a dismissal for tardiness just days later. She collided with something and looked down. A child’s grimy face looked up, pleading.
“Please, a bit of gold dust. Something.”
Her heart wrenched. She hesitated a moment. But the clock tolled 7, and two youth in newfangled jeans started arguing over a claim, and Genevieve ran up Somerset towards the mansion.
Please feel free to jump in, following the same prompt, if you feel inspired. Like the art? Click the picture for a link to the page of the young woman who created it, and many more, for me. I’m a great fan of hers, and highly suggest you look at her writing as well.