(Photo Credit: Priorhouse)
Anastasia polished the last of the white cups and carefully positioned it atop the gleaming table at exactly the same spot from where it was picked.
Even at 84, frail and with an eyesight that was fast fading, this was one chore from doing which no physical or mental obstacle could deter her. When Vassily first arranged the mugs, cups and jugs with a concentration bordering on the fierce, Anastasia had thrown back her head and laughed till tears streamed down her cheeks.
“The fat Silver chudovishche is the T-26” he exclaimed.
Then he went away to Stalingrad.
(WORD COUNT: 98)
This story was written as part of the FRIDAY FICTIONEERS challenge, more about which may be found HERE
For the complete list of entries, please click HERE
The credit for the breathtaking photograph goes to Priorhouse