Tuesday Tales Photo Prompt: Eliza’s Trek
It’s Tuesday Tales time! This is the first week I’m participating with this exciting, talented group of writers. Every week we get a word prompt to write from and once a month is a photo prompt. My first week out we got this fascinating photo. There are so many directions one could go with this.
Of course, when I saw this nostalgic downtown scene, I had to work in a story with one of my Athelstan women from the quilt squares. Photo prompts are limited to 300 words, so here’s the “shortened” version. A lot of details got cut to stay under the limit, but I was having so much fun with the story, I may expand it later.
Eliza Jane drifted along the dusty road towards town. Shimmering light waves obscured her vision, as when heat radiates up from hot asphalt roads. Yet, she wasn’t overheated. Eliza felt marvelous with nary an ache or pain from the rheumatism that had plagued her for years.
Her vision troubled her. She couldn’t see clearly. It was like a gauzy veil surrounded her world. ‘Probably cataracts,’ she murmured out loud.
Eliza enjoyed her daily walks into Athelstan. She was born here, goodness, so many years ago. Have 80 years passed? The thought startled her. It seemed like it was yesterday. The days blurred together. Now I’m talking to myself, like the doddering old ladies I used to laugh at.
She entered town and stopped at Burt’s Market. She peered through the front window.
Who was that strange, pasty-faced young man behind the counter? He wasn’t familiar. Where was Burt? He was always there; a beefy sentry standing guard over his mercantile.
It wasn’t the same since Georgia and her husband sold the general store to Burt. I always enjoyed sitting by the stove and chatting with the townsfolk who stopped in for mail, or to barter extra eggs or milk for goods.
Thinking of Georgia, did I even see my daughter today, she wondered. I don’t recall. I don’t remember when I saw her last. My memory is so befuddled. It’s as foggy as this misty view I have.
A rush of whirling air and chattering voices moved past, interrupting Eliza’s monologue.
“Nellie, Doris!” Eliza called out.
They entered the market, oblivious to her presence.
That’s odd, they ignored me.
She reached for the door knob, to follow. She couldn’t grasp it. Looking down, she saw her handless arm protruding through the frame as if the door didn’t exist.
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