I've visited the ant farm, even spray-painted my initials on the 63' Sedan. Dad loved his baby-blue caddy, a testament to his success. I remember racing it down the road and choking on the dust cloud swirling like a comet tale as he drove away.
Memories of him tinkering, washing, and polishing Abby, a car named after me, are all I have, that and a few faded photographs. Dad was handsome; the ladies loved him. I wonder if he loved anyone.
Mom married Hank, a mean son-of-a-bitch.
Stuffing Hank's carcass in the tail of that monument somehow seems apropos.
Yolanda Renee © 2015
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. She's provided the following PHOTO PROMPT via © Jean L. Hays.
All we have to do is write in a hundred words or less where this prompt has taken us. Can you do it? Will you do it? Why not? Tighten your storytelling, give it a try!