I'm baaaaack! Surprised? Yeah, me, too!

I’m baaaaack! Surprised? Yeah, me, too!

I haven’t participated in Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge in quite a while.

So I’m going to jump in with a thoroughly depressing little ditty.

You can hardly blame ME. The photo prompt is of a graveyard. I mean, really!

At least my entry falls below the 100-word limit (93 words). I had a death word dearth. You’re welcome.

Photo prompt courtesy of J Hardy Carroll. Thanks for the perfect Veteran's Day tribute photo!

Photo prompt courtesy of J Hardy Carroll. Thanks for the perfect Veteran’s Day tribute photo!

Mommy Said So

Daddy went away too soon if you ask me. “Not soon enough,” Mommy said to herself but I heard. “That man was troubled six ways to Sunday. And he had three daughters…” Mommy confused me sometimes.

Daddy probably figured dying was easier than living. Now my Daddy’s somewhere down there, in the dirt, while I’m up here trying not to mess up my white dress because Mommy hates messes. Daddy’s dirty; I’m clean. Mommy said so.

Where’d Daddy go? He’s gone; I’m here. Can I still be his little girl?

Mommy won’t say.

*****

This story is memoir-ish. I suppose that is both linguistically atrocious and also incorrect. My father (who served in the army, but was dishonorably discharged due to the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy back in the late 1950’s) killed himself when I was four. I was not permitted to attend his funeral. Indeed, I didn’t know what happened to him until I was much older. So, as a little girl, I couldn’t have had these thoughts at his grave. My mother never had a harsh thing to say about my father–she rarely mentioned him. The part about a father who killed himself is true (memoir); the part about a little girl who understood is fanciful but based on truth (memoir-ish or fiction).

Okay, enough of this uplifting chit-chat.

Don't know about you, but I'm ready for the train to Happyville. All Aboard!

Don’t know about you, but I’m ready for the train to Happyville. All Aboard!