- a challenge - 52 short stories in 52 weeks...something must be worth reading, right? |
It’s a slideshow, of sorts— quick snapshots of moments he is allowed to remember. It begins with the warm cup of strawberry milk, offered by the smiling nurse, his favourite pink straw nestled inside. “Here you go, Mr. Aman. Now remember—slow sips, all right?” Swallowing isn’t easy these days. Yet as the sweetness touches his parched tongue, he is five again, sitting at that small dining table with the red linoleum top in Anywhere, Nebraska. Mother stands nearby, ironing laundry while Frankie Avalon drifts from the radio. Sunlight pours across her, gilding her sadness. She has never looked more beautiful, even in grief. He knows she has never stopped missing Dad, who went across the ocean to fight in that awful war. He takes another sip. It goes down the wrong way. “Told you to take slow sips, Mr. Aman,” the nurse scolds—her voice pulling him back. For a moment, he mistakes her for Mother. But no… she is kind, she tries, yet she will never be her. Later, they moved from Anywhere, Nebraska to Somewhere, New York. Life was no longer golden mornings and endless miles of corn stalks, but concrete walls and narrow alleys. He got a new “Dad.” That man hadn’t been a fan of strawberry milk—or of many things at all. Times grew rough. “So, we ran.” “What’s that, Mr. Aman?” the nurse asks. He only smiles. Another snapshot: Mother, standing tall against that man. In her defiance, she had never looked more beautiful. He remembers the diner; the glass of strawberry milkshake she bought just for him. Thick, cold, delicious. The taste lingers still, sweet as the memory. It was the taste of freedom. The best he ever had. ---------------------- Word Count: 287 Prompt: Write a story that includes the words: milk, straw, wrong Written For: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" |