Ma always rang the supper bell at sundown. We sprang from the woods, eager grasshoppers half-starved for peaches-n’-cream corn and buttermilk biscuits. Junie and me woofed it down, bickered over dibs on the last piece of cobbler, and then bellyached about sick tummies.
The sultry summer days stretched out like a lazy porch hound. We jam-packed in a childhood of explorin’ the boonies, catchin’ crawdads, and laughin’ ‘til we darn near peed our pants.
Last day of summer, the bell clanged early. Roundin’ the corner of the house, Reverend waited on the porch.
“Where’s Ma?” I asked.
Reverend’s wet eyes shed the answer that forever changed our summers.
Written for Friday Fictioneers 100-word photo prompt. Let’s pretend that I didn’t go over the word limit by eight words.
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