Oh good lord! I’m so sorry. I’m getting the challenge rules confused 😦 I can’t get my story off the challenge page so…it’s a few words over the limit. Don’t read it if that upsets you. Again, I’m sorry.
It’s 100 words now 😛
Click on the blue frog at the end of this story for this week’s other stories.
We were burying Cousin Irene. She’d wanted to be buried right next to her husband, Saul. They’d had one of those mixed marriages. Irene was a Catholic. Saul wasn’t. Saul was a war hero.
Sissy and I were 6 years old. We were dressed in our best white sundresses. Sissy was fiddling with the newly turned soil covering Cousin Irene’s grave.
“Ewww. What’s that?” Sissy asked. She was pointing to the gravestone.
“Ewww,” I replied. “That’s a slimy old snail.”
“What to do?” Sissy asked.
“Well, like Papa says, it’s not worth cleaning and eating,” I whispered.
We skipped away.