PHOTO PROMPT – © Sandra Crook
“We’re dying, one poisonous pandemic at a time.”
I clutch Edgar’s hand, not because I’m scared, but because he needs it. We all need it. Great-Gran says there was a time people went without gloves. I wish Edgar believed legends more than pundits.
He nods at the slanted hourglass. “Time’s running out. You know, the latest-“
“Shut. Up. I don’t care about transferred bodily fluids or toxins in sliced onions or whatever the latest is.” I pull off my gloves, throw a rock at the hourglass. Glass and sand rain over the forget-me-nots. “Kiss me, Edgar. If we’re dying, we might as well live.”
Friday Fictioneers (n): A world-wide community of writers addicted to writing 100 word stories based on a photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.