Blue Paisley

I wrote this story in response to another Lille McFerrin five sentence fiction prompt. The prompt is "abandoned."

Blue Paisley
By Laura McHale Holland

She tightened the blue paisley scarf tied under her chin, babushka style, slapped a $20 bill on the counter and strained to grunt, "Camels, please, filters," as words tangled in her vocal cords.

The cashier picked up the money, pulled the cigarettes from a display above his head, put them on the counter, and then shuffled to the register to ring up the transaction and get the woman’s change. A horn blasted, and she dashed out, not even pausing when the cashier called, "Hey, lady, you forgot your change!"

Hours after she’d jumped back into a Nissan spewing a thick gray cloud from its tail pipe as it sped away from the store, a remnant of blue paisley fluttered, caught in the railing of a rickety bridge far up the road. Below, a crumpled pack of Camels floated at the river's edge; above, a faint smell of exhaust lingered in the air.

Photo by Johnnie Utah