Weathered Patterns – 154 words
She drowned me in tempests of her own making, the waves coming faster as the years seemed to slow. Caught in her currents, we’d swirl and crash, dragging each other down in whirlpools of words, our barbs like fish hooks we’d repeatedly cast.
I couldn’t imagine a time when the waters would calm, when the murky surface wouldn’t hide adolescent icebergs I’d bang into at unexpected moments. I was a ship caught in her ocean, a personal Titanic battling the forces of her nature.
One time in the middle of a downpour, she handed me an umbrella. “I love you, mom,” she’d said, her eyes misty in the center of repeated hurricanes.
What I wouldn’t give to spy her on my horizon, to let her crest and break in my arms. But the tide never changed for us. She succumbed to her own inner maelstrom, and I’m marooned on this island of grief.
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Happy Thanksgiving! I’m grateful for YOU, and for the opportunity to draft a bite-sized story in the midst of leftovers and Black Friday shopping. Good thing I didn’t feel the need to go out to the stores, considering how long it took me to create this tiny tale. Let me know what you think, and come give some love to the other Flash Friday writers. We’ll be grateful with gravy on top, I swear!