This very short story was written for the Stach Short Story Contest. There's a word limit--199. And a prompt, which must be incorporated into the story: Down on Bended Knees.
I write a lot of nonfiction. But sometimes, it's good to exercise other muscles. This was fun. Every time I look at the piece, I try to inject more understated hysteria. I think I'll stop now.
WHERE...?
Where, where...where...?
Can't be lost! Was in my hand, then it was gone!
How? If I tell them I've lost it--again--they'll think there's something wrong with me. Won't let them know.
They whisper at night, when they think I'm asleep. But I hear them, and I know what they contemplate. This will be the end of me. No! I have to prove myself. I have to find the key. But where?
My pockets--turn them.
One dollar. And dust. Nothing more.
Retrace my steps to the car. Nothing, nothing. No silver glint--more precious now, than the house to which it promised entry.
This key will prove, or disprove, my fitness to remain among them.
Quiet, quiet, quiet.....Too much noise....Focus, focus. It's on the ground, in the hemlock, under the curb....Where?
If I get close and run my fingers through the soil...That's it. Down on bended knees. Eye to the dirt...Look carefully...It's here, and I will find it! I must, I must find that key!
The Picture: Is from Pixabay and was created by Michael Gaida under a CCO license.
I took Mr. Gaida's lovely, haunting picture and decided to distort it with a fractal application.