Fourteen-year-old Jerry Craft had shoved his mask deep into the back pocket of his dusty stained jeans five-hundred miles ago. He’d scurried into a boxcar at Denver and the inspectors hadn’t found him when they stopped in Salt Lake. Now somewhere in Nevada, August heat scorching him clean, he felt free. “No COVID’s gonna get me.” He suddenly coughed, doubling over and nearly falling from his perch just above the car coupling. Sitting down, his inner demon quieted and let him speak once more. “With Ma and Pa already dead, ain’t gonna let COVID get me before the cancer does.”
I wrote this for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ 100 word flash fiction challenge. The idea is to use the image above as the prompt for crafting a wee tale no more than 100 words long. My word count is exactly 100.
I haven’t written for one of Rochelle’s challenges in a long time. I’d been more busy writing fiction for tons and tons of anthologies, that is until recently. Frankly, I dried up. Oh, I got a really great day job in May that I love a lot, but that other side of my writing just up and flew away.
But today, I’m actually feeling pretty good. Mind’s still clear this evening, and well, I want to write something, right?
But that’s the past, and I need to start writing for the future, including chasing the elusive first novel.
To read other stories based on the prompt, click HERE!.
Oh, my title is based on the 1973 Lynyrd Skynyrd song Tuesday’s Gone.