Here's the information: Friday Fictioneers from Madison Woods
And here's my 97-word story:
She stared, blinking into the fluorescent glare that buzzed above the hospital bed, hearing the soft beeps and whooshes. She was there, pinned, and he was gone—oh yes, she remembered the guard rail, the screaming crunch, then nothing but this.
How soon would the sisters let themselves in to the house to pick over their things, to pull open the box of letters—old intimacies, or pluck out the lingerie—new ones? Who would lay bare the furnishings of a marriage, when the couple were pried apart?
Three tears rolled into her matted hair.