PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter
The weak rays of gloaming could barely reach her bed. Her
grandmother would light a silver lamp and say prayers.
But today there was no one to follow the sacrosanct ritual.
Only she survived that fateful day.
Recalling the events had become a quotidian affair and
the wounds become sore with each passing remembrance.
Limping slowly, she surveyed her desk. The overgrown
creepers had to be discarded along with their roots. The
layer of dust accumulated on the window of her past had
to be wiped clean.
Her face glowed as the aura of the silver lamp wick
Written for : Friday Fictioneers
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