“When can we go home?” Arnie watched his mom battle with the campfire. She rubbed sticks together, cursed, then clanged rocks above the cold wood.
“Think of it as connecting with your ancestors.” A frog escaped his mom’s frantic fire starting attempts. He counted the colors in the sunset. Five. His ancestors could have probably counted more.
“I thought dad said we were Irish.” The rocks hit the ground with a muted thud as his mom sat back.
“Well baby, your dad said a lot of things.”
“Like, that he would meet us here?”
Arnie watched his mom look away.
Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers. Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields
Click the blue froggy for more
Oh dear… that is a tough one…
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I didn’t mean to write a downer this week! It just happened. It is a tough one. Thanks for reading!
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We can’t always be bright and chipper 😉
Was a good one.
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A well-turned story
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Thank you Neil
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Wow – you’ve covered so much in so few words! Brilliantly done, Kelley.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
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Thank you! I appreciate it
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Escape or retreat? Sad tale, but…a new start?
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Perhaps a bit of both. It can be sad but you’re right, a new start.
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Nicely hidden subtext -loved it.
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Thank you for reading!
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Dad sounds like a bit of a bad one. Well written Kelley.
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It definitely sounds that way. Thank you!
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Arnie had hit his mom where it hurts.
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He did but I don’t think it was intentional. Thank you for reading!
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Excellent piece of flash fiction, loved it.
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Thank you!
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