Winter Wet

A flash fiction story

Mama would forgive a lot of actions, but muddy boots through her house was not one of them. She would get over my tone, or my back talk but not mud footprints laced with blood on the floorboards of the shack.

Mama’s moods were like that. They made no sense.

I had been walking what felt like days, trying to muster the courage to face her.

She wouldn’t trade muddy prints for me leaving easily but it was time.

It was the one decision I was gonna make in my whole life that went against her. I had carried all the curses from my family and it was time to come clean.

I stood in the doorway facing her back stirring the venison stew.

“I’m not coming back. Authorities will find me here and I cannot put you in danger.”

I saw her spine tighten and her stirring hand holding the spoon become a fist. She couldn’t punch the stew but she could punch me , which shaded my choice of staying put.

“I have to Mama. I have carried the curse and I have to break it.”

“This isn’t the way,” she whispered to the ceiling.

I waited.

“Are you comin’ in to eat?” She turned and looked at me from top to bottom settling on my boots.

“Too much mud,” I turned to leave.