Friday Fictioneers – Momma

Photo courtesy - David Stewart

Photo courtesy – David Stewart

Momma

Word count:  101

Momma’s house has been empty for years. Cousin Willie mows the grass regularly; says he won’t stop until he’s got a toe tag. He never goes in though, and he never touches the flower beds. Just cuts the grass. See, Momma disappeared seven years ago, one year to the day that Daddy died in the mountains. She never stopped grieving; loved that man with all her soul. She raised us kids until we were old enough to fend for ourselves and then one day, she vanished.

I was only eighteen; wasn’t near old enough to lose her.

I miss my Momma.

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25 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers – Momma

  1. Love the mood in this piece! “Cousin Willie mows the grass regularly; says he won’t stop until he’s got a toe tag.” Gorgeous details! The toe tag… wonderful. Wherever she went, the sense of loss and sadness permeates the piece, while also showing us a slice of every day in a home.

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