“We have a museum.” Declared Rochelle, as we clumped home in our playsuits. We were allowed outside for one hour each day.
She opened a heavy door in their storeroom.
I couldn’t tell her how sad it made me.
Wolf Creek was 100 miles away, but when the tornado hit the Power Plant, it spun these radioactive toys all the way to Kansas City.
Rochelle’s and my dad were ‘pessimists’. They built lead-lined storm shelters beneath our homes on Stateline Road.Later, in Hazmat suits, they collected the memories of the dead children, sealing them behind leaded glass.
· This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:
· · http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/09/04/6-september-2013/
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