I was seven years old when my mother nearly burned down our house. My brother, sister and I were watching TV in the den while Mom was getting dinner ready. She poured oil into a heavy cast iron pan and set the pan on an open flame to heat.
My mother taught me to knit.
Back then, knitting was a necessity, not some artisan craft like it is today. She would get patterns from Women’s magazines and cheap wool from the market. She knitted my clothes – sweaters, cardigans, even skirts. I was the eldest. As soon as I could hold a pair of needles, I was knitting booties for my baby brother and sister.
We’d love to thank Paula Nicolson from Scotland, for her story ‘I’m Sure Jesus Liked Cheese’, a sweet story about jet lag and childhood games, based on true events. Paula Nicolson lives near Lockerbie, Scotland, with her family and is a mum to a teenage daughter, two grown-up stepchildren, and an overly chatty cat. She…
She came to Australia with not a word of English – only pockets of hope and a heart of burning ambition.
Emma knew there were 11 children in the cemetery. She had counted. She needed to know she wasn’t alone in her suffering. Sometimes she wondered what their stories were, how their families were coping. She never saw anyone at their graves. Did nobody love them anymore? Were they lonely? Occasionally a toy would appear, leaning against a headstone, but she seemed to be the only parent who visited her child regularly. Would she ever stop coming?
A touching true story about grief and the special bond between Mother and Daughter.
A short and sweet story about the meaningful things we allow our children to steal from us.
Someone once told her that if dreams and wishes were dollars and cents, she’d be a very wealthy woman by now. Their words were intended as a reprimand, but she embraced the sentiment…
She stared fixedly at the beige jacquard wallpaper that clothed the far wall of her room. The subtlest of smile’s tugged at the faintly wrinkled corners of her mouth as she observed the sunlight dancing with the shadows of the tree branches in an exuberant waltz.
Outside, here in the garden, the fresh air has blown away the cobwebs and the sunshine has fused her neural wiring. Pulling up the roots, teasing apart the strangled knots, picking up the windfalls and turning over and over the soil that clouds the water. I stand there, at the top of the path, watching. She hasn’t seen me yet. I don’t want to jinx this moment where, in this one place, her world makes sense. She’s tiny now, with the tenacity and strength of a little sparrow.
An intense piece of Flash Fiction about a Mothers life altering choice.
Hurry, hurry. Must hurry up. In and out. Grab the plastic cups, paper napkins, no sidetracks, no impulse shopping, pray I don’t run into anyone I know…oh dear, there’s Amy from playgroup in the produce section. Turn around, quick. No time for chatting, must be back before the first kid arrives. Party supplies, party supplies…oh…
We would like to say a huge THANK YOU to Fiona M. Jones of the UK, for her non-fiction micro story entitled ‘Mud’. You can read the story below or click here to go to a separate page. We hope you enjoy reading this story and don’t forget to check out our many other wonderful…
So this story and another of my stories were shortlisted in Sweeks August Flashfiction Challenge. This month’s key word was “Fear”. ~ Jo Stewart UNKNOWN “Go change out of your uniform” Eve instructed Abby, shutting the boot of her car. Abby scurried into the house as fast as her 6-year-old legs would carry her….