The Painter


As I rounded the hill top and started for the other side, I could see a small pond shimmering in the icy wind and her easel standing quietly alone beside it. Panic gripped my body as I bounded down the slope.

At the easel, all I found were her black leather shoes.

I looked at the painting.  It was incomplete, smudges of brown beginning the trees and a deep blue-black mass representing the pond. The water seemed strange. I leaned in closer.  Floating in middle of the painted pond, swirled in blue-white-yellow was the word that stopped my heart.  Help!

Prompt from Friday Fictioneers.  Photo Prompt @ Magaly Guerrero



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