Friday, June 12, 2009

A Ficly

Helen's Sunday

She’d visited the cemetery every Sunday after church. It was right across the road. The grass had grown in this spring over the turned earth. She’d told him all about Clyde Wilcox making eyes at her during service and complimenting her dress.

She rode back to her home in Margie’s car.

“Come with me to Bingo, Helen! You need to get out of that house more than twice a week.”

“Marge. I don’t feel like it. Not yet. I don’t want their eyes on me.”
Margie sighed and gave up this time.

Helen climbed her front steps slowly and unlocked the door to a stale house. A small mewing made her stop. A tiny kitten clung to a branch of one of her tall bushes.

She took it inside and gave it a dish of milk. “Where’s your family, huh?” she sighed.
“You need someone to look after you for a while.” The kitten licked its face and then curled up in her lap for a nap. The soft purring soothed Helen’s loneliness.

“You’re quite a charmer, much better than Clyde!” she joked. Her heart warmed a little. She thought about Bingo.



I ran out of room to elaborate on her thought at the end. But I think I got my point across.

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