Shrift

Willa might not have noticed that her mother had given her short shrift, if not for the note on Willa’s sister’s night stand. “Dear Prudence,” it said, their mother’s handwriting looping in the extravagant, rollercoastery way it always had before the accident that left her bedridden, “please try to do your best to make sure I never go into the nursing home. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but you’re the only one I can trust.”

Willa tugged the note out from under the lamp, crumpled it in one hand, shoved into the box filled with her mother’s things.

 

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2 Comments

  1. I hope you’re entering your bits in a flash fiction contest or compiling them into a chap book, they are layered and rich. Brava!

    Reply
    • Thanks for the encouragement, Jo! I’ve submitted one bit for publication, but I’m just starting to think about compiling the others.

      Reply

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