141 words: Paramount Dregs

The sound of the boom echoed off the high ceiling. Chunks of concrete fell and shattered, clouds of dust forming a protective mushroom over the rubble.

She ran to the corner of the room, sharp shards of plaster digging into her bare feet. Droplets of blood dripped off her milky white chin. Her muscle memory kicked in; she knew where to go. She kept everything precious and beloved in her closet.

The glare from the hardcover almost blinded her in the dark, a flash of lightening in the chaos. Her eyes shimmered, reflecting the broken glass at her feet. She couldn’t leave it behind. It was her longest and most cherished friendship.

She closed her eyes through the smoke and dust, tucking the rectangle itch under her bloodied shirt. The novel’s sharp spine pressed tight against her ribcage as she ran.

The prompts I worked with today were “lightening,” “friendship,” and “broken glass.” These were given to me by an anonymous and loyal reader, to whom I am eternally grateful. 

What else can I say. Books? I would absolutely save my most cherished novel amidst any disaster. Currently, that novel would be Richard Wagamese’s “Indian Horse” because it is beautiful and cutting as anything you will ever read.

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