Inside the Mind of Isadora

The morning mist of light rain chills the damp air. The sprinkles fall like fairy dust.

Somber moans of grief echoing in the silence mimic the sound of metal thumps.

Our hearts shattered into aching pieces with memories of her kindly, gentle spirit.  

The dark holes of fragmented pieces felt in each of us.

Grandmother would have called this a celebration of her life.

‘No tears, no sorrow for my death, just joyful memories of my days,’ she’d say.

Grandmother’s friends were remembering her vibrant life.

A dark hole of broken hearts forever silences her wise words in the end.

2021©Isadora De La Vega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

Photo:©Ted Strutz

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*****The elderly continue to be the biggest victims of this dreaded pandemic that we’re still in the midst of experiencing. My daughter is a counselor at a hospice hospital in Albany, NY. The deaths are staggering. Please get vaccinated and wear masks.


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Friday Fictoneers – Institutionalized

Venom flowed through her veins. Hate was a mild word for what she felt for him.

She had him taken to an institution. He would be there for life.

Her mother died shortly before he was placed there. Doctors said her frail body was from malnutrition and improper medical care. At 88, she needed home health care. Instead, her mentally challenged son was her only caretaker.

Why was she angry at him?

It helped soothe her guilt.

Banned from his mothers funeral by her, he raged. The perfect storm for him to be taken away.

Lord grant her soul redemption.

2018©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt: Sandra Cook

 

 

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