Most people don’t believe me when I tell them I cry for a living. They write off my answer as a sarcastic way of saying I’m unemployed.
Then someone in their family dies— maybe the potbellied uncle who sat on the couch drinking Bud Light and watching Fox News all day, ranting about how the homosexuals, the blacks, and the wetbacks were ruining America; or the successful NYC sister-in-law who bragged about her six-figure salary, called everyone south of the Mason-Dixon line country bumpkins, and complained about mom-in-law’s heart attack food.
Rhonda’s grandmother lived in her attic. She called Rhonda fat and ugly and criticized her cooking until the day of her stroke. The funeral was held on her family’s four acre ranch. Rhonda assured the priest that the low attendance was due to most of Miriam’s friends dying before her, including her husband. But for good measure, she hired me to collapse against the large headstone, cry out to the Lord, “why,” and faint as they lowered the casket.
Rhonda hands them my card.
word count: 175
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) using the provided photo prompt as inspiration.
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