Photo credit @YarnSpinner
A Broken Parish
by T. Delaplain
Sweat dripped between my breasts and no amount of fanning would release me from the heat’s hellish grasp.
“That ‘lectric fan been broke since you left home,” my starched aunt sniffed as she marched past me with another bacon scented casserole.
The rotting porch sagged under the weight of each parishioner’s righteous step and the splintered shutters and I were judged lacking.
How many covered dishes had they brought when she’d lost her appetite? How many kind words had passed their lips before the burial?
A flutter teased my ear, “Go, before this small town kills you too.”
Have a seat on the porch and share your sultry tale with Friday Fictioneers.