Flickers of Gold: A Short Story
Flickers of Gold WRITTEN BY CHRISTINE MARIE It started with the paint I bought at the summer art festival. Rain streamed from the clouds, soaking my hair and making my sneakers squeak with every step I took towards the parking lot. My mind was so focused on reaching my vehicle that my heart nearly leapt out of my chest when a hand grabbed my bare forearm. I whirled around immediately. But my defenses lowered when I saw the wrinkled old lady beside me. Her curly gray hair piled high on her head, and her light blue eyes gazed at my face like she recognized me from long ago. “Please, my dear.” Her voice was a crackly whisper. “Take this.” She raised my hand, placing a tube of metallic gold paint in it. The tube’s paper—as crackly as the woman’s voice—read, Imagination’s Creations . Must be homemade paint. I watched the old lady’s face as the raindrops trickled down my face like tears. Was this some sort of marketing tactic to get me to buy her pigment? Whatever she was pulling, it wo...