“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…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I didn’t mean to write a downer this week! It just happened. It is a tough one. Thanks for reading!
LikeLiked by 1 person
We can’t always be bright and chipper 😉
Was a good one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A well-turned story
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Neil
LikeLike
Wow – you’ve covered so much in so few words! Brilliantly done, Kelley.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! I appreciate it
LikeLike
Escape or retreat? Sad tale, but…a new start?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Perhaps a bit of both. It can be sad but you’re right, a new start.
LikeLike
Nicely hidden subtext -loved it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for reading!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dad sounds like a bit of a bad one. Well written Kelley.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It definitely sounds that way. Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Arnie had hit his mom where it hurts.
LikeLiked by 1 person
He did but I don’t think it was intentional. Thank you for reading!
LikeLike
Excellent piece of flash fiction, loved it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person