PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Molly was seventeen and had lived on her own since she was fourteen, from the day her father, drunk as usual had tried to take her to bed. Luckily he’d fallen into a stupor, so she rifled his wallet and set space between them.
Now she worked as a waitress in the cafeteria of an office conglomerate next to an old factory. The money was ok, plus she had all she needed to eat. She’d found a small work shed that she’d cleaned up and made homey. Just she and her cat Louis lived there.
She didn’t feel at all homeless.
4 DECEMBER 2015 – Friday Fictioneers
Copyright – E.A. Wicklund
The door bell rang
Bicker, bicker bicker…seems that’s all they did anymore. The days when harmony ruled their lives was long since passed.
“Can’t you even take the garbage out, at least once in a while!” she shouted.
“You don’t do anything but gripe and moan!” he spat at her.
The door-bell rang.
“Sorry folks I’ve got some bad news for you, your son’s been in an automobile accident, if you’d like to follow us we’ll accompany you to Mercy Hospital.”
They walked into the hospital, hand in hand. No thought of recriminations. United in apprehension for their only son.
Written for: Friday Fictioneers