The Postcard
Mar 5th, 2018 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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I sit in the beaming sunlight reading Tim’s postcard from France repeatedly.
“Callie, I met a beautiful French woman and we’re in love. I’m not coming home.”
My sweat drips onto the postcard leaving smudge marks. How could he do this to me? I’m so aghast, I throw the postcard on the grass and my dog Bentley whimpers as I kick the lawn chair across the yard, hitting the neighbor’s fence.
“Hey, watch it, Callie! You’ll break my fence,” Charlie yells.
Before I have a chance to answer, I look at the postcard and chortle. It’s full of bird excrement.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
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