empty house

Sorrowful old house befitting my memory.

Mom was moaning.  Dad told me to go feed the pigs.  I did.  Went back.  Dad said go outside and don’t come back until he called for me.  I did.

I could see everything as I peeped in the window.  Dad and Grandma were hurrying from stove, water bucket, bed.  Mom looked bloody and she screamed for help.

They’re too busy to notice me.

Mom’s having a baby, like our old cow, Elsie.  The baby partly out, like Elsie.  Mom didn’t get up, like Elsie.

All sound ceased.  

Dad forgot to call me.


Friday Fictioneers 100 word story from Picture Prompt



About oneta hayes

ABOUT ME Hello. To various folks I am Neat’nee, Mom, Grandma Neta, Gramma, Aunt Neta, Aunt Noni, Aunt Neno, and Aunt Neto (lots of varieties from little nieces and nephews). To some I’m more like “Didn’t you used to be my teacher?” or “Don’t I know you from someplace?” To you, perhaps, I am a Fellow Blogger. Not “fellow” like a male or a guy, but “fellow” like a companion or an adventurer. I would choose to be Grandma Blogger, and have you pull up a chair, my website before you, while I tell you of some days of yore. I have experienced life much differently than most of you. It was and is a good life. I hope to share nuggets of appreciation for those who have gone before me and those who come after me. By necessity you are among those who come after me and I will tell you of those who came before. Once upon a time in a little house on a prairie - oops, change that lest I commit plagiarism - and change that “house on the prairie” to “dugout on the prairie.” So my story begins...
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2 Responses to OF BEING EIGHT

  1. Faye says:

    Oneta, is this true or a story? Was Mum ok? Did she die?

    • oneta hayes says:

      Fiction. In my imagination, she died. I wanted to give special emphasis to the boy who felt left out – put out of the house, wasn’t seen peeking, ignored during crises, dad forgot him. How much being left out even in duress can hurt a child.

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