She had always worn an underskirt. I remember them swaying in the breeze as they hung side by side on the washing line, crisp and white. Although they were much more than that.
They were my sail on far flung adventures across the sea; the flag of my enemy surrendering at last. A beautiful veil as I walked down the aisle, and, each Christmas, one cradled the baby Jesus as I bore him in the shed.
My grandma’s underskirts. So many stories.
I squeezed her cold hand as she lay beautifully dressed before me.
“Goodnight Grandma” I whispered “God bless.”
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
I wrote this as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The idea is to write a short story (just 100 words) based on the photo prompt provided.
To join in the fun visit HERE.
Thanks for reading x