I haven’t got another tear – #fridayfiction
Sometimes I think I haven’t got another tear left inside of me. I cried an ocean over these past six years, and now I’ve come to a point where I’m dried out. I’ve got no more tears to give. I tell myself, You done cried over everything there is to cry about, and I get to believing I’m never gonna shed another tear.
The thing is that ain’t true . I still got a l.....
You can say a thousand times – #fridayfiction
You can say a thousand times from Sunday Mama dying ain’t my fault, but I know better. Me asking her to sneak around Daddy to come and see Isaac broke her heart. Broke it the same as if I stomped on it with my two bare feet. Mama loved me; I know she did. How can any mama not love her own child? Long as I was happy with just getting letters Mama could be happy for me, but when I sta.....
The typical Florida early summer – #fridayfiction
Louise settled back into the seat, wishing she had stopped for something to eat. Ready to jump on even the slightest bit of forward movement, she sat with the engine idling for nearly twenty minutes, then lowered the windows and clicked off the motor. The typical Florida early summer evening felt warm and muggy, the air thick with the threat of more rain and charged with smells .....
Five days before Christmas – #fridayfiction
Five days before Christmas, Louise had Ernie take the Fullness of Life quilt down from the wall. She folded it carefully and packed it in a sturdy brown cardboard box. Then she took out a piece of paper with an address on it—a piece of paper that she’d tucked into her purse when she stood in a mobile home what felt like a lifetime ago—and copied the address on the box. Beaming, .....
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Memory House THE SEQUEL – #fridayfiction
They say that somewhere far beyond what we see there is a scale of life; for each moment of happiness, a stone of sorrow is dropped onto the scale.
When the Keeper of the Scale saw that Annie Cross’s life had been weighted with sorrow for far too long he selected a stone the color.....
Ida’s jaw dropped open – Friday Fiction
Ida’s jaw dropped open. “Five dollars?”
He pushed the glasses back onto his nose a second time and nodded.
“Five dollars is not fair-priced,” she said indignantly. “I may not be wealthy, but I’m certainly not looking for charity!”
“And I’m not giving any,” Peter replied. “You’ve got to understand, when people sell previously.....
When Annie wakes the next morning – Friday Fiction
When Annie wakes the next morning it is drizzling rain, and for a few minutes she remains in bed. This is when she remembers the pocket watch beneath her pillow. She raises herself to a sitting position, reaches beneath the pillow and fishes the watch from its resting place. Covering the face of the watch is a thin layer of black soot, the residue of a fire. It wasn’t there last n.....
They have no trouble locating the Ace Hardware store on the main street of Langley. When Annie asks about the best rust remover for use on chrome, the clerk hands her a bottle of Rust-Be-Gone.
“This’ll do the trick,” he says. “Pour a bit on a square of aluminum foil and rub gently.”
“Aluminum foil, like Reynolds Wrap?” Annie questions.
He nods. “I’ve got steel wool if you want, but it’d scratch the tar out of whatever you’re working on.”
The voice in my dream said something else, something I didn’t tell Annie. Nobody wants to hear bad news so I left that part out, but I remember it word for word. You’ve done well, Ophelia Browne, he said, but your time on earth is growing short.
That’s exactly what he said, and I don’t doubt it’s true. As I’ve told you before, Browne family women seldom live past ninety. Edward told me his Aunt Harriet lived to ninety-three, but she’s the only one. Fact is fact, and it m.....
When Annie arrives home there are eight messages on the answering machine. Four are from Peter Axelrod, her boss at Quality Life. Two are from her friend, Sophie. One is a recorded sales pitch from an investment company, and the last is from Michael.
“Where are you?” he asks, that all-too-familiar tone of impatience thick in his voice. “Call me, I’ve got something to ask you.” The message ends with a click. There is nothing more; no explanation of what he wants to ask.