Under her breath, Katherine grumbled. Moaning all morning about her disinterest in going to Chinatown fell on deaf ears. She hadn’t come to New York City to see food markets, commercial stands filled with counterfeit designer items, or inhaling scents from so many restaurants. She cringed from nausea.
Traveling with Charles was always a problem.
Katherine was looking forward to cultural places like the MOMA museum or a Central Park carriage ride.
You’ll enjoy the chaos was his reply when she questioned his itinerary. Let’s compromise, stay an hour.
In February, we had another photo prompt from Dale Rogerson. Since this week we’re having an encore of another of her wonderful photos, I thought I would continue my first Flash Fiction story called Dying Love. If you missed reading it click on the title; although, the stories are independant of each other. Thanks for popping by … Isadora
She sat on the chaise lounge, watching the droplets of rain slide down the window.
Her eyes were swollen and red from the tears she’d shed for hours. Time didn’t exist.
A blank space permeated where there used to be laughter between him and her.
Now, he was gone.
Why?
The police were kind but seemed suspicious. The paramour is always suspect.
Yes, they were opposites in many ways, but he was gentle, kind, and conscientious of her likes.
“You’re mad, it’s snowing. Plus, we might get snowed in,” she said.
He loved spontaneity.
She didn’t.
Come on! We’ll walk the beach, shiver, then run to the warm flames of the fire left behind in the fireplace. We’ll sip champagne, eat chocolate strawberries as we warm. Besides, you aren’t able to resist my yearn for you.
~~~~~~~~~
She watched icy waves hit the shore from the balcony.
Just moments before, they’d laid close in each others’ arms, relishing the passion of their lovemaking.
The fading red roses near the flames emulated his death.
“Okay, Mommy,” she said, in her sweet high pitch voice.
Ivy sprinted to the laundry room. My last chore, then I can put my feet up.
Instead shock covered Ivy’s face as she gazed upon her 18 month olds mess.
“Nikki, what have you done?”
“I cover the poop with paper and powder just like you.”
“Honey, I clean-up the poop, then, add the powder. You put the poop and the powder together. But, you’re a good girl because you pooped in the potty.” Great job!
Inside the Mind of Isadora 