The humidity gripped Sylvie like wet paint smothering a wall. Her hands, dry and chapped, burned like acid in the heat. She raised her skirt to wipe her face; no neighbours would see.
“Where’s my dinner?” a voice rasped.
Listless, she looked at the wagon, prayed the babe still lived, and swung the axe. The confused chicken laid her head on the stump to rest.
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Oh gosh you’ve painted a desperate picture, well done it really works and is thought provoking!
I’m trying to be provoking to prove I’m still kicking. Thank you for your generous words, Gilly.
Heavens!!
Brilliantly written Tess!
You are such a sweetie, Ghia. Thank you.
Oh, I like this one. Desperation is palatable.
Thanks, Valentine. Must be because I’ve been feeling somewhat desperate myself. Strange how that works.
Well done, Tess. You have packed so much into a few short lines.
Thanks, Naomi. Stuffed is the lead word here as is my stuffed head.
Excellent flash, Tess. The combination of babe and axe is a great twist of the imagination at the end.
xxx
Babe and axe? Ouch! Thank you, Red. Trying to keep my stuffed head clear.
Umm… I was making a reference to Paul Bunyan… Looking at it that way is a mite further than I would have reached… unless it was one of my flashes
xxx