The memories come like a yester-year slide show.

Eww mom, this place if crawling with bugs. I can’t stay here.

If this place is good enough for your father and me, it’s good enough for you. Just because your some big city lawyer now, don’t forget where you came from.

Ugh, the respect-your-roots speech again!

*

Come stay with me mom, you can’t live alone.

I spent 52 years with him. Do you think I can leave him now?

But…

*
She lies beside him now.

The place is still crawling with bugs.

Somehow they seem inconsequential.

 


Written for Friday Fictioneers with photo prompt by Shaktiki Sharma

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8 thoughts on “Roots

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