I knew this place would be a dump.
Be grateful there’s a place at all… sleep out in the rain if you want.
It’s not my fault we’re in this godawful situation, but her tone
always implies otherwise.
I rested my unwashed head and couldn’t help but wonder if the overripe stench was me or this questionable pillow. Fighting it, my eyes shifted in the direction of my mother; watching her body sob silently, I drifted.
I love you, kid.
I heard it, I’m just not sure if it was real or if I was dreaming.
This flash fiction entry was written in response to Friday Fictioneers. The objective of Friday Fictioneers is to challenge yourself to write a 100 word or less story that is influenced by a single photo. If you’d like to learn more and/or participate, click on the photo prompt above.