#stories | Inside the Mind of Isadora

It was challenging to walk in shackles. My hands ache from the cuffs.

How would I manage if I fell?

They don’t care.

He was just a homeless bum sleeping on a sidewalk.

It doesn’t matter to anyone that someone is killing the sleeping homeless.

How would I know if the guy searching through my stuff was the killer?

Now, I walk in shackles because I defended my bare essentials.

Now, I’m a violently insane man on my way to the psych ward.

My view from the window is the iron gate with fancy scrollwork.

The metalsmith was an artist.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: True Crime

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©BrendaCox

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge

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********** In the News: Recently, a man in New York City was shooting the homeless while they slept. He has been arrested. This story is based on those crimes.

Standing in the middle of the family room, I close my eyes.

Breathing deeply, I can almost smell the warmth of bread baking while pies cool on the window sill.

I can imagine being awakened by the aromatic brew of fresh coffee.

I can’t help but wonder about the many evenings after dinner when my grandmother would gather the children and impart her wisdom with stories of her native homeland and traditions.

It’s damp inside now.

Rain begins to fall, the sound against the tin roof echos a melody.

With all of my senses aroused, I embrace the warm sentiments.

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge

click here

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