her silent sighs weigh their pale yellow curtsies. she lies in the alfalfa field and listens to their tiny cymbals beat feverishly and shower sweet and sugar upon her cheek. she turns the other cheek. her darkened eyes open, and two by two, the butterflies float along. but she falls deeper. the alfalfa, she pulls…

She rocks back, forth, back and forth – a pendulum. Her hair trodden from the sullen cloud permanently fixed above. The red needle on the yellowed clock reads 7:56 a.m. and every morning the phone rings. “Hello?” Wrong number. Some old man trying to reach Garrison Keillor – but she listens. “I got a story,”…

BR 100 word contest