The Vote

Elinor had just cast on her first row of stitches when her next door neighbor popped her head into her open window. Her face was pale, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“What is it, Mary?” Elinor fumbled with her knitting needles, dropping one into her bony lap. She gripped the ball of yellow yarn that would eventually be transformed into a beautiful bonnet for the baby across the way, and held her breath in anticipation of whatever news Mary was about to share.

“It’s that time again, dear,” Mary’s voice was gravelly after years of smoking. “My grandson recently visited and informed me of all the recent politics and shenanigans.”

Elinor picked up the needle. “Why can’t they just leave us in peace?”

Mary tsked her tongue. “Now, now, Elinor. It’s our duty and we mustn’t shirk it.”

Elinor, feeling properly chastised, dropped her gaze to her sewing project. “You’re right, of course.” Her fingers felt cold and she rubbed her hands together before adding some stitches to the yellow hat. Mary slipped away without a goodbye, probably off to warn the neighbors that didn’t get visitors. They all must be ready.

Time slipped by. Elinor finished the bonnet and had started on a darling little matching sweater when she heard the tap. She frowned and glanced up.

“It’s your turn!” a voice was calling.

She set down the needles and yarn with a sigh. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled. With great effort she reached her arm up and out of her grave.

“Sign here. You’re voting for Brandon again.” the voice informed her.

Elinor rolled her eyes but complied before yanking her arm back into the dirt. “Maybe now I can finally rest in peace,” she mumbled. “At least until the next US election!”



81,000 votes. C'mon, man! ▼

296 words
Written for: The Daily Flash Fiction
Prompt: "It's your turn