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Weekly Contest #355
Neala loomed over Grandma Aileen’s casket and stared at the waxy skin etched with makeup-filled crevices. Each line on the old woman’s face held a story. Frown lines told of times when she had scolded Neala for wearing shorts too short or bikinis too small; lip lines told of how many packs of Marlboro Reds she had inhaled over the years; crow’s feet had told tales of glaring at her husband when he would do things that went against what she considered moral. But there were faint smile lines hidden underneath the pastel cream. Those lines tol...
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