Memorial Monday Finish the Story – Gone

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Originally posted on August 26. 2015.  Barbara’s photo and first line. Titled Gone

“Where did they go?”  The words hung in the air.

The sentence repeats everyday.   The voice changes.  It mixes with the bristling sagebrush and weeds.  The desert is not quick to answer any of them.

Wapataki lay still.  Hundreds gather into slow line heading North toward the river.  It’s three days. The temperatures of summer harden the ground earlier.  Crops have failed to produce the last two years, and this year is the water has gone early again.

Pakitowa land back against the wall watching his people leave the community generations deep in history.   His gods choose their home.   The stars fell to this spot.  He holds the glossy silver stone in his hands.  It was last night, the stone seeped.  The sign to move couldn’t be any clearer.

His heart still.  His breath held fast.  He is the last to leave.  His people occasionally look back.  He can not.  The proud leader is reduced to a divining rod.  Their fate cast toward the promise of water.  The dream is the gods know where they can live in peace.

An hour in a bright light baths the tribe.  The orange glow brighter than a million sunsets.  They have returned the stone that fell back to the sky.

“Where did they go?”

My Obit

  

This is a unique flash fiction challenge where we provide you with a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. Your challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided. Don’t forget to use the opening sentence… This challenge runs from Monday to Sunday! Get creative and have fun finishing the story!
Please include the photo with your bit of flash and a link back to this post. Do not forget to click on the blue frog and add your link so that others can enjoy your story too! Now let’s have some fun!
© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham
Finish the story begins with: “She lived a life that some would describe as being on edge.”

She lived a life that some would describe as being on edge.  

Jenny pulled back her grey ponytail. Her old eye surveys the cabin.  Her simple two room shack did her well.  Self-substaining her farm was small.  Her life was simple.

 “It’s that all there is?” She asked the tiger striped cat at her feet.  Her obituary was a little short.  At least she could have them rewrite it still.  

“I guess people can’t be on their own anymore.  Shame they don’t say who discovered me.  I’d like to know.  You know just to thank them for looking in on me.  I got them two thin nickels to leave you.  Alfred, they are all yours. Like this place.  I don’t know if I can leave them to a cat.”

“I guess I’ll keep that obit.  Maybe frame it..put it on the wall.  When I feel dead, I’ll just read it over.”