For weeks, she watched the gray skies, the power-line full of birds, and the two apartment building across the road. Once in a while, she’d quietly shed a few tears but mostly, she sat and thought. She thought about how she should be starving or dying from thirst by now but strangely, she felt neither of those things, nor did she want to escape from her captivity. For all she knew, nobody was going to rescue her. Not the FBI, not her father. For all they know, she was dead. Slowly, the words formed at her lips. “I’ll help you.”
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.