Welcome to Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group and the fifth story on this blog. This 3,052-word piece is by romance mystery author Rosanne Dingli.
Please do comment in the section below telling us what you liked about this story and, what if anything, Rosanne could do to improve upon it. Thank you – it’s very much appreciated!
I do have some feedback but I’ve just included it (below the story) as links to the scans of my handwritten-notes so I can let others comment here without being influenced by me. 🙂
Comment / feedback sought by Rosanne: “This story was written very quickly, so no doubt readers can pick holes in it. It appears in the collection The Red Volkswagen and other stories, a bundle of stories all about cars.”
The Blue BMW © Rosanne Dingli
The withered hand rose out of the water, slowly rotating away from her. She watched it, horrified, as it turned and dripped. Skin and bone, with long curved nails, it was the nightmare hand she feared. The hand she had dreaded would reach out from under the bed as a child, to grab her ankle if she dared step down to go to the bathroom.
She never dared. And now, it slowly turned, making no sound as it splashed into the oncoming waves and disappeared. Rings – three rings – formed and spread outwards from where it had shown itself. It was a few seconds, but she had seen it, just like she had dreamed it, just like she had witnessed it: the withered hand of her mother as she lay dying.
‘I’m leaving you everything.’ The soft voice was clear and sharp. It did not sound like her mother’s voice. ‘See that you get it – everything in the house. My will – it’s all in my will.’
‘Mum, don’t talk. Hush,’ she said. Grief was starting to knot itself into a tight wad in her stomach and a vice around her throat. She could not cry now, yet she could not stave off the tears. ‘Mum – please …’
‘Listen. It’s important. Take the jewellery. Don’t let your brother’s wife … take the green jade bowl. The kerchief box – it’s yours. The box is important.’ Her withered hand, dry, with papery skin and veins that were once blue, now blackened under a weak tarpaulin of dying nerves.