by Michael Seese
My blogging has been kind of sparse lately, as I've been busy working on one of those book-things. I have high hopes for this one, and I hope to have something to share in a one or two.
Luckily, Janet Reid saved me from blog-stupor, by offering another of her contests. This time we had to use:
I tried a different approach, focusing on one word -- in this case hope -- then writing the story I wanted. Then I found room for the other words. That approach would have been more challenging had she chosen a word like "mustard," or something.
So here (after cutting 14 words, much to my chagrin) is "Hope."
They named her Hope, because they had nothing else. Everything had been stolen from them. Their home. Their lives. Their dignity.
She would not be next.
Their shattered faith promised a better life. They’d begun to doubt. Until He sent an angel.
The girl with the kind smile and the pushcart of rotting fruit discarded by the soldiers wasn’t like the others. A child herself, perhaps 13 years old, she'd have to do.
"We don't have a lot of time," she whispered, burying the baby in the hay. The winter, and the boots, approached rapidly.
Hope would not survive either.
As always, I'd love to know what you think.