Sweat saturated my lashes.  I blinked away salty tears,  but still couldn’t see. Stumbling toward the spindly tree, I fell forward , caught myself before hitting the sizzling pavement, and landed on the scorched, crunchy grass.

“Is this what you are searching for?”

A tall, cool shape in flowing robes held out a clear glass dripping full of ice above my head.  I reached out, collided with the arm, and the liquid disappeared into the grass.

My voice failed.  I nodded.

‘You are too careless. Not deserving.”

I rose and found the energy to shout, ‘Ma’am, I am a garbage collector!”


ff 3 9

photo credit Emmy L Gant

Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle can be found at this link.


About Life in the 50's and beyond...

Welcome to Life in the 50's and 60's and beyond .... where I write about my childhood memories, music of the 60's and about life in the country. I am a mother, grandmother, farmer's wife, business owner, and retired teacher.
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13 Responses to Pride

  1. kutukamus says:

    How fit—a garbage person, with heart of a collector! 🙂


  2. subroto says:

    Water, water everywhere…..Thirst rate story.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I am thirsty just thinking about it!


  4. Sue sanders says:

    Very good build up and a clever ending. You say so much in few words. I liked it.


  5. Jan Brown says:

    A great build-up of atmosphere and tension–then what a clever twist at the end!


  6. How sad. It was so close.


  7. Sandra says:

    Poor man! 🙂


  8. Solothefirst says:

    A good take on the prompt, seeing that water fall must have been devastating!


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