Meet Ellen Best and her award-winning story from the Flash Fiction competition at the #BloggersBash2017.
There’s a reason why she was chosen for first place; when the judges described her story as a cut above the rest and something that resonated within them, I just had to find it and read it and I am so glad I did. It’s not often I get chills from a flash fiction – with Ellen’s story, I certainly did!
Ellen was kind enough to share her beautiful story with us all and here it is:
She sat, on a low wall three bricks high. A wall that once was tall now a crumbled remnant beside the main road. She wore wrinkled long socks, one higher than the other they offered no protection against the easterly wind; that bitter December day. Her ditsy floral skirt flicked against the already chaffed skin; leaving pink welts. A grey knitted cardi hung from her shoulders, the sleeves fisted in her hands as she waited. Flat barren fields of East Anglia solid from the morning frost were inviting her gaze; her were eyes glassy, and wide.
I notice her many times as we flashed by on the way to Norwich. Each time we’d go I would see her, with pain in her shape a stillness about her. Once we stopped at the village shop, while I waited I asked her story. The postmistress said, ” She’s about forty a local she is… not…
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