Quote For The Day 3-6-2017

[I wondered] that we were designed to live through something rather than to attain something, and the thing we were meant to live through was designed to change us. The point of a story is the character arc, the change.”
Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life

Daily Press One Word Prompt – Joke.

Joke

Them was laughing at me, I know they was.  I know.  I know these things, don’t bother to ask how. It’s a secret between Momma and me.

Course that was a couple weeks ago, before she got so sick and went away. Them folk took her, said it was the law, didn’t listen to what Momma wanted.  So I hadta go and steal her back. Folks made a mess of noise over her, but there weren’t no toehold in the silencing wall.

She eats her meals with me now. Mostly, that’s the time I see her. We don’t talk much, Momma and me, but it’s nice to sit at the table with her, the table Grandpop twice-back made with his two hands, all by hisself. I think I woulda liked Grandpop.  He wouldn’t have helped them folk wanting to hurt us.

Momma and me, we like our lives just fine.

But, them folks coming tomorrow, for me and for Momma. Momma don’t want to go back and I ain’t gonna let’em have her. We go together or not at all.

That’s why we’re sitting here at the table so long after dinner. I washed the dishes just how Momma liked’em done, straightened the house until she was happy with the look of things.

‘Don’t ever leave trash behind you,’ she always used to say. ‘Cause them folks will judge you by the trash and not from yourself.”

The crackle of the fire slicks my skin with heat.  I reach out and take Momma’s hand. “Won’t be long now, Momma,” I say, flames sweeping the floor, lapping table legs.

A day at the beach,  Momma.  You remember that day at the beach? Just remember Momma, we’ll see Grandpop soon.

 

Friday Fictioneers 17 June 2016

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The Piano Tamer

The piano tamer never met a piano he couldn’t tame. One bang upon the keys and the most unruly piano calmed beneath his hands. The Morrison’s piano changed everything. It stood behind the store because it stirred up the other instruments, drove them all unruly.

He approached the piano confidently, laying hands upon the keys with the assurance of a master. The Morrison’s piano was cranky. The Morrison’s piano was angry. The Morrison’s piano seemed to think a revolution needed to be made.

The Morrison’s  piano sucked him in with ivory teeth and swallowed him whole. He’s a legend these days, a bitter memory of the last days before pianos took over the world.