Engulfed by a grief which knew no bounds, Bernadette refused to light the candle for Jim. No point. Whether God was dead or asleep, he wasn’t there. Otherwise, he would’ve stepped in. Plucked her husband right off the road before the truck hit. He came to rest on the banks of a creek…too late for the kiss of life, let alone a goodbye. She could still feel his arms wrapped around her in an unbroken chain.
The candle stood as still as a statue, while an owl peered through the window, eyes glowing in the moonlight.
This has been another contribution for Friday Fictioneers. This week’s photo prompt © Janet Webb.