“Why you ain’t in school?” Pa uses the doorjamb to hold himself up.
“You’re fat.” He slings the empty 40 toward my head. I dodge at the last second, and the glass shatters against the wall behind me. “Gonna take a leak,” he slurs then stumbles pigeon-toed through the front door of our trailer.
Will he bother to remove the flowers? Or will he soil her grave with his stream? She’s lucky she’ll never grow to learn what “Spread ’em!” actually means.
“She’s better off dead,” Becky said when we buried her. “He didn’t even know you were pregnant.”
word count: 100
Friday Fictioneers challenges you to write a story in 100 words or less using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to ready other stories and add your own.