A crystalline cloud seemed to blur his sight.
No amount of eye rubbing or blinking
helped to remove this blight.
It had been hardly noticeable until this day.
Worry froze his mind.
His eyes were his life.
Color and imagery his profession.
He cried out for help
and the answer came,
“Dad, clean your glasses.”
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This is a Flash Fiction Friday 55
hosted by Mr. Knowitall.
For more 55's pay him a visit -
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Want yet another micro fiction challenge?
Like a text message,
the Sunday 160 only uses 160 characters (including spaces)
Keep on schedule - post Sunday
Let me know you have posted via a comment on my site
Visit at least one other Sunday 160
the Sunday 160 only uses 160 characters (including spaces)
Keep on schedule - post Sunday
Let me know you have posted via a comment on my site
Visit at least one other Sunday 160
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I promise I will read your 160 and post a comment on your blog.
I admit I'm lazy on Sunday mornings, so please be patient.