The old woman smiled. A far younger woman stepped out of her. “I’ll take you to Alice.”
“Who are you?”
“Cynthia. Your grandmother.”
I followed her along a walkway, beside a road. It started to rain as we walked. She pulled an umbrella from her waist and began to run. “Quickly, Flint! The horde comes!”
This is part 17 of the serial story I’m working on for Lisa McCourt Hollar‘s #55WordChallenge flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in the challenge this week. It’s flat amazing what gifted writers can say in just 55 words.