artist spotlight
Silver
lady
Flash Fiction Piece
by Shelby Bettes
T
he wheels of the black SUV crunched on the winding,
gravel drive. The property was beautiful, full of towering oak trees and carpeted by colorful wild flowers.
Through the trees Rebecca saw a large, white house.
Up ahead, she noticed a sign. Only one side was attached, and
the other hung limply down, halfway covered by brambles. The
words were so faded she couldn’t read them. The SUV rolled
around a curve and stopped in front of the biggest house she had
ever seen.
The dingy white paint was chipping. Shutters hung from rusty
hinges, and the house slumped, leaning slightly to the right.
A silver-haired lady stood on the front porch. She wore a gray
sweater over crisp, black slacks. Square lensed glasses framed her
bright, blue eyes.
Nervously, Rebecca ran a hand through her silky black hair,
hovering over the white streak that colored her bangs. When she
looked into her lap they fell forward, concealing her violet eyes.
The driver of the SUV got out, walked toward the woman, and
spoke a few words before he retrieved Rebecca’s bag and opened
her door, motioning her out. Without saying a word, she jumped
to the ground and was ushered over to the porch. He patted
her on the back, and returned quickly to the SUV. The engine
revved, and the vehicle sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Rebecca coughed, and looked at her new guardian. The woman
cocked her head, eyebrows furrowed.
“Hello, I’m Nina. What is your name, girl?” she asked.
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WINTER GARDEN MAGAZINE
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APRIL 2015
“I’m Rebecca Wood.”
Nina’s face paled. “Are your parents Tom and Lisa Wood?”
Rebecca froze. “How do you know my parents?”
“You used to play here as a child. Your parents brought you to
me when they went out of town.” Turning away, Nina walked
into the house. “Well, are you coming?”
Rebecca followed her inside, stumbling on the uneven porch
boards. She pulled her bag behind her, knuckles shining white.
Rusty hinges squealed as the old, wooden screen door swung
shut. Grimacing, Rebecca rubbed the base of her skull.
The pair walked through a dimly lit hallway, boards moaning with each step. Nina flipped the lights on in a small, plain
bedroom. A dark-colored, four-poster bed was shoved against
one wall, facing it was a matching vanity and mirror. One
dust-streaked window let sunlight in through cracked blinds. It
smelled musty, like old books had been stored there. Nina sat on
the bed, patting the spot next to her.
Rebecca hesitated a moment before settling beside her. “Tell me
how you know my parents.”
“No, I won’t tell you how I know them. Before he left, your social
worker warned me of your escape from your last home. “
“They’re my parents. You owe it to me,” Rebecca said, heat rising
in her cheeks.
Nina squinted. “I owe you nothing.” Rebecca whipped her gaze