Hers was a life more remarkable for its conclusion – the dreadful how, when and why of it – rather than any aspect of its currency.
She’d existed on the periphery, a bystander, ever a ‘bridesmaid’.
No-one was unkind; it wasn’t that kind of a sorority. They just… well… overlooked her.
But in the aftermath of her brutal demise – oh, the feverish hunt for photos, year-books, videos – the endless sharing of ‘remember when’s….’
Now they recognised her as knowing, purposed, destined for uniqueness, with an aura that set her apart.
And they felt diminished in some way…
The photo prompt looks like a perfect place to hide a body, if you’re wondering how I got to this. The story isn’t the one I was trying to write; it’s not about ‘wishing you’d been nicer’ but I suspect that’s how it reads. Someone who I imagine always writes the story she intended to is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who leads us bravely into another year. Happy New Year to all Friday Fictioneers.