After she loses the baby, she takes to wandering all night, returning to his house at sunrise, though she can’t see much light shining out through the smoke and fog. Her stomach still pokes out from under his cardigan, the one she stole off the clothesline while his wife went to fetch more clothespins. She brushes back her seaweed hair, pinches her cheeks into a healthy glow. Pats her belly, sure there’s still a tender promise tucked there. Pulls the peashooter from her skirt pocket, and grunts a puff that sends a pea on its way to his morning window.
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Louella Lester is a writer & photographer in Winnipeg, Canada. She writes to get ideas out of her head in an orderly fashion. Her Flash-CNF book, Glass Bricks, was published by At Bay Press in April 2021.
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
Well, this was a lovely surprise, this morning. Thank you 😊
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This was excellent! Cleverly subverted my expectations. Genuinely impressed that you packed so much into such a compact story.
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