The Way of the Earth

My purpose for this blog is tell stories. Most of them are the tales of mamahood splashed with the colors of real life, but I also enjoy writing a little fiction now and again. May I share some with you once in a while? It is a baby skill that I hope to nurture and grow into something more substantial one day.

He hated this place; detested the dust that permeated every breath and thought, unwelcome and irritating. The summer blaze only aggravated his purgatory, this cruel perversion of a snow globe.

“Tell me again who these boys are?” Ma’s voice cut through his rigid thoughts, prompting him to introduce her own grandsons yet again.

Ma was the one good thing about this place—the only part of his memories worth reliving. She still radiated a brilliant glow of sweetness, even as the rest of her faculties were fading. Content in a rocking chair from its place on the porch, she smiled amidst the grime of the parched land around her bridal home.

“Tell them to be careful climbing that tree,” her voice spoke firmly, reminiscent of old authority. “That oak is quite old, and may not support them well.”

“Don’t worry about the boys, Ma. They’re fine. Besides, they don’t get many chances to climb trees in the city.”

“I don’t know how you can stand living there, all that noise and bustle. But I suppose you’re used to that, being the big city man that you are.” She plucked teasingly at his tailored shirt sleeve.

He did prefer urban living, with its cool shadows and concrete giants, but let her have her joke. Smiling at her weathered face, the creases on her skin seemed deeper to him, her shoulders more stooped. A wave of guilt hit him hard, as he rose to fetch more sweet tea. He knew he should visit more often.

Frosted glasses in hand, he returned to find the creaking stilled, Ma’s frail form slumped. Her sweet voice forever hushed, white head bent softly.

The last tie to this wretched world had been severed, but he felt no relief.

Only an aching hole filling with dust.


Words copyright 2018 by Natashya K Newman. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

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