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Fiction: The Old House (210 words)

17 Aug

He thought the place still smelt like his mother.  It was such an absurd thing to think.  He parents had been gone for almost twenty years, and the place had sat abandoned all that time  There was no way it could still smell like her after all that time.

His parents had sent him away to protect him, he knew that now—but he could still remember how upset that boy was—not yet six, and sent away with an Aunt he barely knew. He’d been so angry that he couldn’t stay, or that they wouldn’t go with him. He’d wanted to hate her—but could never quite manage it.  After all, she was his mother.  How could hate her?

“Henry?” Camille stuck her head into the door, “We’ve got to move on, yeah?”

“Yeah.  Yeah of course.” Henry slipped a picture of his mother and father shortly before he was born out of a broken frame, and shoved it into his pocket.  “Yes, I’m coming.”

“They might still be alive, Hen.  Maybe.  We don’t know.”  Camille offered.

Henry smiled his fake little smile—and wondered if it looked like the same smile his mother gave him all those years ago when she said they might see each other again soon. “Yeah.  Maybe they are.”

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Posted by on August 17, 2014 in Stories

 

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