© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
It’s over. The drops coated the balcony in a way that brought her chills. Somewhere out there her demons were waiting; waiting to pounce on her vulnerabilities. She needed a sign. But the lights didn’t flicker. The rain didn’t let up. There was no breeze. Only the drops from the sky moved.
She was rooted to her spot.
The spell was cutting deeper and deeper.
Her intuition was on overdrive.
Run. That’s what her inside voice was telling her to do.
She peered. She ran. The car turned on and headed her way. No turning back.
Categories: Culture, photography, Psychology, writing prompt
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