A spare moment to take in his accomplishments had been thrust upon him by a sudden shortness of breath. Leaning for support, he padded his brow with a handkerchief, the family crest mopping up the mess left by the pulsating globules, spreading like blisters. With blurred vision, he counted the cars, the windows, the ornamental art, the boats – hell, he even counted the trees. It was all his.
That single possessive pronoun clamped itself around his heart – a clenched fist bringing him to his knees. His eyes searched frantically for someone but in the end he found nothing.
This piece was created using the prompt (photo contributed by Rochelle) hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple. photo contributed by Sandra Crook.