Beneath the roof of her family barn, Tilly hugged her duct-taped boots and cried like her world was on the verge of a collapse. Her father’s voice still rang in her ears as he pointed at the door and shouted, “Out! Get out now!” She didn’t move. She stood there and giggled, thinking her father was playing around with her. “Did you hear me?” He picked her up and deposited her out on the doorstep. “How many times do I have to tell you to not track mud in my house?” He said and slammed the door in her face.
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.