This is my submission for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers this week. It’s really nice to be back.
Thanks to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge and to Sonya for our photograph. I’ll put the froggie on for you to read other submissions.
Daddy had been dead well over a year before I visited the family crypt in the Odd Fellows Cemetery. An urn, with his ashes, was centered within Cousin Lucy’s bones.
“Are you gonna come in with me?” I asked Buck.
“Aww Sissy. Come on now. You know I don’t even visit my own family’s crypt.” Buck was just sorta staring into nothingness.
It was February. Trees and earth barren and brown – waiting for spring. We’d driven up, from Bayou Teche, to spend Mardi Gras week with my family, and were hung over from celebrating.
I didn’t go inside either. I just peered into the death chamber. It was dusty, just like the bible says.
“I’m glad he’s close to Cousin Lucy,” I said. “And that an angel guards them.”
On the ground, just outside the crypt, Buck laid the cheerful daisy bouquet we’d brought. He put his arm round my waist and pulled me closer to him.
“I guess I don’t have to forgive him.”
“You don’t,” Buck replied.
click here for other submissions:
Time for this week’s Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers. It begins anew each Wednesday. 100-150 words more or less to do with the photo below (photo changes each week). I’ll put the link to this week’s stories at the end of this piece. Blogs, like this, are such a great gift for writers – and I believe readers, too. Pass on by – click on the froggy at the end of this story.
Very thankful to PJ for hosting this for us. It’s so much appreciated. So exciting to see how this is taking off and attracting more people each week.
I Promise I’ll Forgive You One Day
Sometimes I wonder if you remember, like I do, that afternoon at the park. The world was colored burnt orange and fading green. A flock of mallard ducks guided each other to a swim in the river’s gentle flow. So many innocent yesterday promises. We were going to remember that afternoon forever.
“We don’t have to hate each other before we say good-bye,” I said years later. It was raining and cold. I was standing in the foyer, looking at you through the screened door.
You were standing on the porch looking back at me through the silence.
Sometimes silence is like a vacuum. It just sucks everything out of a person right before some deeper, more peaceful breath prevails; when that ascent to forgiveness seems impossible. What was there left to promise anymore?
Thanks to PJ for our photo.
I’ve been dreaming lately
when I awaken
it seems so difficult
to get there
photo thanks to pixabay.com
Ode To An Imperfect Love
Stop looking back
move on from
Since being born again
would not be an option I’d choose
I will live
imperfectly loving you
no rhyme or reason to it
When the clouds parted
then I saw you there
smiling and forgiving
standing on our balcony.
In my mind this is true
that I love you
than I have ever loved before.