Packing Up

‘He was never a man of great passion,’ her aunt sighed. Shoulder to shoulder they stood at the old kitchen table and worked through the stacks of photo frames, wrapping and sticking, piling them up one on top of the other into cardboard boxes.

‘But those trains,’ said her aunt. She passed the frame across and Anna looked at the stained silver square with its black and white occupant . ‘He loved those trains.’

Anna nodded, examining the steam train dutifully. She placed the frame down next to the box and picked up the next one.

Afterwards she put it up on the mantelpiece at home.

‘I remember that day,’ her father grinned. ‘First time I’d ever seen one.’ He pointed at the train and started talking, Anna stopped listening.

To the left, almost forgotten by the photographer, stood a woman.

‘My mother never did like cameras,’ said her father. He shook his head. ‘Then when she died he burnt the ones we’d managed to take. I suppose this one must have meant too much.’

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Written for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers

[174 words]

4 Comments

  1. Great nostalgic story! Makes me wonder why her husband would burn her photographs after she died? Thank goodness he left this one. 🙂 Very nicely done and I enjoyed reading it. Welcome to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers! Thank you for your participation and I hope to see you in the future. I wanted to let you know that today is the last day of the challenge for last week. The InLinkz for this particular photo prompt will close tonight. I will be sending out a new challenge post tonight, for this week.

  2. A lovely response to the prompt. 🙂 I expect that picture will have even greater meaning for Anna now she knows it’s the only existing picture of her grandmother.

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