A small robed man prepared to dip into the lake. He gazed at his reflection, as if what lay just beneath the surface were the better judge of his sins.
As I drew closer, his lover’s frock slung over his shoulders and stripped red from her blood seemed to assume a voice of its own.
No wonder the man crawled and cowered.
Tufts of grass, ripped from the dry dirt, were flung towards stoic blue stones slowly submerging beneath the hate he spewed.
All because his lover requested he wash the dishes. How ashamed he must be.
Word Count: 97
For Friday Fictioneers
I liked “He gazed at his reflection, as if what lay just beneath the surface were the better judge of his sins.”
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Thank you Neil!
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Good story Kelley. I like your take.
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Thank you
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Oh. Now see what happens when the dishes are not done? Good story.
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Thank you!
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Now that’s what I call a severe over-reaction to a simple request! 🙂
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
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For real! Thanks Susan
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Dear Kelley,
Seems there are better ways to get out of doing the dishes. 😉 Intriguing.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Very true, thank you!
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A lesson for all non-dishwashers 🙂 Very interesting take!
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Thank you!
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