More flash fiction
This entry is a day late due–quoting an old-fashioned TV expression–to technical difficulties beyond my control. I just returned from San Francisco where we visited three major museums picking up enough inspiration to last for months.
Inspiration for today’s sample comes in part from my first job in journalism.
Blake steered his car down the country highway. On his forearm he wore a reminder of years past. He was taking his teenage son on a journey to explain who his father was. He owed him that, and more.
“Every little town we’ve been through has its own water tower,” said his son, Scott. “I see another one ahead. Is that where you used to live?”
As they approached the tower and the cluster of buildings around it, Scott read the lettering on the tank: “Centerville State Penitentiary.”
Blake involuntarily rubbed the prison tattoo on his arm.