The Last Thread
My fingers trace the ridges on the back of her hand, puckering the skin. The silken thread of her life pulled too tightly.
“Lack of turgidity. A sign of dehydration,” my doctor-cousin informs me brusquely. But I know better. The Fates await her with sharpened scissors and a single eye.
I didn’t post in this week’s YeahWrite Microprose #312 grid, but I love flash/microprose and wanted to play along with the other YeahWriters. The single word prompt was hand. This piece, about my maternal grandmother, is nonfiction.
Asha Rajan 
This is beautiful! I also missed the grid.
Thank you! I hope you post on the weekend showcase instead. It’s unmoderated, but I’ll be hanging out in there this weekend!
Will definitely try!
Good to see real expertise on display. Your conutibrtion is most welcome.
Thank you for such a lovely compliment!