After her latest hospitalization, Tricia isolated herself on an island where no one knew her.
While the ocean roared and licked her feet, she searched for colored shards of glass made smooth by tumbling waves. In her workshop she placed them in jars filled with water then sold them to tourists. Tricia was confounded by what rum soaked and perfect bodied folks would purchase while they laid in the sun.
Here, she remained sober and ‘off the grid’, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about her past life. She hoped they were okay without her. Actually, she hoped they were better than okay.
104 words/General Fiction (hell, I don’t know)
Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this exercise in discipline. It is a joy to work with you and have you comment on my work. Along with all of my other friends from Friday Fictioneers.
Readers, please check out the other stories found on Rochelle’s page. Thanks for stopping by.