Here’s the prompt. Doesn’t seem like a lot to go on, does it? How could anyone pull a story out of this? We bet you can! There have to be some great stories about how those glasses got to that place. Or perhaps the story is in who finds the glasses a moment after this picture was taken, or in what they do with the glasses once they found them.
Tell us the story you find here! Remember to keep it to 100 words and put it in the comments, please, or at your own web site with a link right back here. Write relentlessly!
(Photo Credit: MabelAmber on Pixabay)
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I didn’t ask her to stay, and she ran out of options. I offered the lake stocked with dying fish, the water filter, a year’s supply of dried food, and a warm place to crash when summer nights faded to winter. Ash fell like snow for months. It covered the field like a blanket and she told me how it sparkled pink and pretty if she looked at it the right way. I knew she’d made her choice when I found her rose colored glasses on the dock. She took them off and traded beauty for truth at the end.
Update time.
I’m laying next to my glasses, where Gord (the gorilla) Fleeman just planted me, ostensibly because I was wearing my ‘faggy-glasses,’ AGAIN.
He hit me so hard this time, it actually seems to have corrected my vision so that’s good, right?
Anyhoo, I’m pretty sure the next thing I’ll be seeing is his left hobnail boot , with Gordo at the controls, slowly and lovingly crush my specs beyond redemption.
When that happens, my plan is to throw up all over the offending footwear…
and roll off the dock into the water.
Yeah, that should do the trick.
My world has been bathed in hues of pink my entire life. Everything around me has always looked…warm. I never thought of it as anything but. Everything seemed, felt fine. Sadness never seemed to find me; discomfort never invaded the fringes of my magenta malaise. I wasn’t prepared for the crispness of life, the cold, the contrasts. For the first time I felt fear…and awe…and anger at having missed so much of life just to stay safe inside my cocoon, never knowing the dangerous beauty of sensation until I dared to lay down my rose colored glasses.
Tabitha was my world. Gorgeous. Intelligent. Driven.
Every Friday we sang karaoke. Mostly Beatles songs, ‘Hey Jude’ her favorite.
It’s funny—my friends called her Yoko, but that’s just because they were jealous of the time I spent with her.
I didn’t mind her temper. The scratches and bruises didn’t really hurt. The yelling was just her fiery personality coming out.
It wasn’t until she drowned my cat because it scratched her that I stopped seeing her through rose-colored glasses.
When I confronted her, she stabbed me and shoved me off the dock.
I’m sinking, looking up at her smile.
love!