“Who are you?”
She looked at me, “You know.” She raced deeper into the hills. I followed. We reached the top of a hill, and she stopped. “There.” She pointed to a building made of cylinders, covered with windows. Several men stood before it. They tossed a bound woman toward its entrance.
Alice. My mother.
This is part 20 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.
If you wish to read all the parts of the story, they are in order, from most recent to first, here.