Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Three Hundred and Eighty-Six

‘32 was bad. Boy’s family went to California. Then Ma got the fever and died, and Pa did what he always done in times of trouble. He run away.

I stayed in the cabin to lick my wounds. After I shot me a couple bears, and a neighbour of evil intent, I got left pretty much alone.

So there it was. Thanksgiving. Me alone. I never expected no knock on the door and I opened her just a crack. My boy stood there in his cracked boots and foolish grin.

“It’s a long way to walk from Californy,” he said…

©jane jago

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: