“I’m fine. Don’t be silly,” Mom said.
Paul shot a skeptical look over her head. He’d been after me for months to come out and see how she was doing.
“What did you have to eat today?” I asked.
“Oh, the usual. Yogurt and some strawberries from the garden.”
I gave Paul a triumphant look.
“Say, can you get Mom’s walker?” he said, emphasizing the word walker like an indictment.
“Where is it, Mom?”
“It’s in my trunk, dear.”
I walked through her tidy kitchen and into the garage. Which was when I saw her crumpled car. And the blood.
This has been an edition of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the talented and generous Rochelle Wisoff Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Rochelle-and I hope everyone’s okay!
To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.
After doing Pegman for awhile, I got used to the luxury of more than 100 words. This was a challenge!