Pool Parties

By day, the pool pampered those who’d never known hunger; who’d been born into privilege and never left it. Cushy connections and nepotism guaranteed unearned wealth with interest and no taxes. Brown servants slathered their pale, never-pinked wrinkled bodies.

By night, Gemma, a hood rat, looped surveillance footage with empty glassed blue, while hungry, tired children, parents, and grandparents from a neighborhood three blocks away splashed harmlessly and forgot about their troubles.

Nothing good lasts forever. Drones patrol at night now. Yet they can never seem to identify the dark-hooded figures lobbing leaky offal over the fence, into its blue.

[100 words]

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of
Friday Fictioneers.