Sitting in an old plush chair, Cynthia hummed a melody as she knitted a sweater for her little girl. She was oblivious to the sour and rotting stench of garbage that filled the small house.
Shelves of old dusty books lined the walls. Hanging from above were random items picked from her collection; rolling pins, pots and pans, and white dresses that she had made for her daughters.
The front door opened. Someone stepped inside.
Cynthia heard her daughter’s voice.
Nicole found her knitting a sweater for Nicole’s dead sister.
“I’m here to take you away from this house.”
Word Count: 100
© Josslyn Rae Turner
Photo © Mary Shipman
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