PHOTO PROMPT © John Nixon
Dave is impatient. Peter pulsed him with news that she would be arriving at three, and it is almost four.
Dave arrived here five years ago and hasn’t yet adjusted to seeing the second-hand shop as a Way Station. Or that the streets aren’t paved in gold. Or that you have to be here for a thousand years to earn your wings.
The yellow fluorescent ceiling light flickers. The Tardis sound reaches him before it materializes. Its door whooshes open and out she steps, wrapped in a white sheet. She looks confused until she sees him. Her smile is radiant.
My mom passed away yesterday. I’m imagining her and my stepdad are having a joyful reunion right now.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the energetic host of Friday Fictioneers.