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Table
so much happens at the table, maybe it's the Thanksgiving table, or worktable, whichever, make the narrative center around the table, poetry or prose :)
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MeeJong in Flash Fiction

Not the Dinner Table

Staring down at her shackled hands, the shame sets her cheeks ablaze. Is the air heavy with malice? Or is that simply her imagination. Always, she had soft landings, until now. Handcuffed to the table, left to wonder what comes next. Your mind retraces your steps at times like this. How, exactly, did I end-up here. Working backwards through the hours, days, weeks, months, years of her life. Was it just inevitable? Or a series of foolish decisions? Or an emptiness, a yearning, that brought her here.

She splayed her fingers across the wood grain. Is it just painted aluminum? Are there clues here, on this table, about what comes next? If there are, is she equipped to see them?

Her entire body tensed as the door creaked open. She squeezed her eyes closed. She heard laughter down a hallway. Was it menacing laughter? Her mind, in the moment...so muddled, so frenzied...she was afraid to open her eyes. She focused on the sounds, the creaking door, the soft latch as it closed. The click as it locked. Footsteps, breathing...hers? theirs?

The touch on her hand made her jump and her eyes flew open reflexively.

"Don't be afraid." he said with a smile.

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Dionysian66 
Great write. I’m left wondering, is she receiving a visit from Dr. Lecter? Remember-“ Fear comes with imagination, it’s a penalty, it’s the price of imagination.”
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MeeJong
Thank you! I actually had one table in my mind when I started writing but it shifted as the story was written so I left it purposely ambiguous. I like the Dr. Lecter angle though that wasn’t even one of my two angles!
I am 21 years or older.