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#FF — End

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

Silver moonlight led Mary to Johnny’s grave. The cold steel in her pocket was as chilled as the swirling mist. Tears stung her eyes. Hugging the wet marble, cheek pressed against his name, Mary’s wracking sobs disrupted the still air,

Johnny! My boy! My baby boy!”

Pouring out every last sorrow from her being, she now lay inert in the wet grass.

Midnight approached.

Mary’s trembling hand clasped, then raised, the pistol.

An icy invisible hand clenched her wrist.

You know, I used to dream of you, Dad, and I sailing together. Go to him, Mum. He needs you.”



Part 1 of the story from two weeks ago.
Part 2 of the story from one week ago.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the effervescent host of Friday Fictioneers.

68 thoughts on “#FF — End

  1. Do you know, until I read the comments, I hadn’t realised that the ghost had stopped her suicide? I had the idea that the ghost had egged her on to finish the job.
    My bad.
    I’m glad Mary didn’t kill herself.

    Liked by 1 person

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