By Peter J.
“The house was filled with plants,” nine-year-old Tommy said to his mother, Darla.
“It figures, she’s single.” She smirked, turning to her friend Tabitha. Both women were sitting by Tommy at a table in Darla’s salon.
“What’d she say when you asked for a phone?” Darla asked, fixing some roses on the windowsill.
Tommy shifted. “Moma, why are we talking ’bout people without ’em? Fern’s nice.”
Tabitha sighed. “Honey, the town needs to know. What’d she say?”
“It ain’t right,” Tommy mumbled, looking down.
At that moment, Fern walked in, grinning at the three. Darla cut her finger on a thorn.
Carinna, you have an uncanny way of capturing the everyday and turning it into art. A moment becomes eternal. A line (especially the last line) becomes an entire story. I’m looking forward to reading your eventual New York Times best-selling novels!
Wow, Smilia, I really appreciate your comments! One of my favorite things about writing is finding the extraordinary in the ordinary, lol. I am very thankful for your comments, as I’m actually trying to write a book now! Thank you once more for your kind words.