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The festival of love
#WritcoStoryPrompt42
She chose her cleanest piece of clothing to wear. It was a festival after all and she wanted to celebrate with everyone else. When she stepped into the street a speeding car drove by splashing dirty water on her.
A tear fell down her cheek. The poor had no right to celebrate...
Mira ran a wet rag across the muddy sleeve of a red and black flowery gown.
Her view was blurred by stubborn tears as she listened to the sound of celebration outside her window.
She sighed and let a lone tear slide down her cheeks. The dress was ruined. It was nothing impressive, but it was the best her meagre salary from the diner where she waited tables could afford. So to her, it was special with its delicate embroidered flowers. Now, it was an ugly muddy rag. The mud would have been easy enough to wash out but some of the festival's paints and colours had gotten on it.
She tossed both rag and clothing on the floor. And then flopped on the bed face down silently cursing the driver of the blue sports car.
As her eyes drooped all she could think was..
'who drives a sports car at a festival'
Stefan stepped out of the car, gun in hand. Behind him was a crescent moon and a dark starless sky. He moved cautiously towards the darkened bungalow. Although the house was relatively new. It now looked old and wrecked. The place was dark and the front door was broken.
But as he neared he could see a blinking light. With a foot, he pushed the remains of the door and entered pointing the gun in the direction of the light. It was coming from the kitchen. The door was ajar and when he reached it he realised it was empty. A mobile phone on the floor was flashing with an incoming call. He bent and picked it up. The caller ID was Bestie ❤️ with...
She chose her cleanest piece of clothing to wear. It was a festival after all and she wanted to celebrate with everyone else. When she stepped into the street a speeding car drove by splashing dirty water on her.
A tear fell down her cheek. The poor had no right to celebrate...
Mira ran a wet rag across the muddy sleeve of a red and black flowery gown.
Her view was blurred by stubborn tears as she listened to the sound of celebration outside her window.
She sighed and let a lone tear slide down her cheeks. The dress was ruined. It was nothing impressive, but it was the best her meagre salary from the diner where she waited tables could afford. So to her, it was special with its delicate embroidered flowers. Now, it was an ugly muddy rag. The mud would have been easy enough to wash out but some of the festival's paints and colours had gotten on it.
She tossed both rag and clothing on the floor. And then flopped on the bed face down silently cursing the driver of the blue sports car.
As her eyes drooped all she could think was..
'who drives a sports car at a festival'
Stefan stepped out of the car, gun in hand. Behind him was a crescent moon and a dark starless sky. He moved cautiously towards the darkened bungalow. Although the house was relatively new. It now looked old and wrecked. The place was dark and the front door was broken.
But as he neared he could see a blinking light. With a foot, he pushed the remains of the door and entered pointing the gun in the direction of the light. It was coming from the kitchen. The door was ajar and when he reached it he realised it was empty. A mobile phone on the floor was flashing with an incoming call. He bent and picked it up. The caller ID was Bestie ❤️ with...
