She sat slumped, her hands face up, resting in her lap. Their weight like sandbags, barely holding the tissue that she would use to wipe the tears that fell onto her arms.
It was just yesterday when he was still here. His blood spattered across the court. Today they washed the chalk lines and his blood. Erased. He was gone forever. Her child. Just playing. Caught in the crossfire. Promises of the future evaporating like the puddles on the court, slowly disappearing.
Behind her she heard voices, footsteps running. A ball bounced across the court. One shot, with its echo.
Go to Rochelle Wisoff’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers.
This week’s photo prompt courtesy of Dale Rogerson.