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Fiction Friday: The Porch

Mrs. Pauley is squawking again. I spring onto our porch, ducking among potted plants, just like a secret agent.
“Mom! There are squads across the street!”
At the screen door, Mom wipes her hands on her apron.
“That mess is none of your business, bubba.”
The officer shakes his head as Mrs. Pauley’s mouth moves. Our landlord is there too. I wonder why. He rubs his forehead, checks his watch.
They guide her away from the house.
“Forty years!” Mrs. Pauley squawks, “Forty years!”
Her cane falls. I compromise my secret agent status, dashing to catch her, but she crumples.

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Fiction Friday: Letter Afire

[You are about to read the first fiction essay of Miss Early Bird’s blogging career, written in response to Writing 101’s fifth challenge: Be Brief. Anticipate more imaginative tales on MEB’s new feature: Fiction Friday.]

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