One last strike

 

“Look at this beautiful arcade and those magnificent paintings, Mother. It’s so calm and tranquil here. You can spend your evenings in the rose garden. You are going to love it here.”

Marie seethed with rage as she was wheeled through the blanch catacomb that led to her tomb. Tomb…room…what did it matter, a sarcophagus by any other name. Retired from the board of directors, retired from her life, now stuck in the gardens to wilt away with the roses.

Aaah, but this rose had one last thorn. One last move to wipe that condescending smirk right off her daughter’s face.

When she was six feet under and her will was opened, what a shock they was going to get!

 

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Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting and to Dale Rogerson for the photo prompt. If you’d like to participate, visit here.
For more stories, visit here.