Category: Creative Writing

I stumble up the three cement steps. The flower pot that is always blooming has died off and the flowers are brown and have molded into a crusted position.  Across the street Mom’s bedroom light is still off. The morning…

I start piling a metal chunks into the compost pail. Woven into the grass, dozens of pieces remain. A large oak tree stands out behind our many rows of apple trees. I drag the segments across the grass, digging up…