Best of 1874 Prose


A micro story.

Delia pulled the blinds’ cord in the small dark room. “Don’t do that!” Ms. June screeched. The plastic bracelets sounding on her arm tickled and delighted Delia tock tock tock tock tock. “I don’t want the blinds open. Close them!” Delia yanked gently on the cord again, her arm gliding, the blinds accordioning tock tock tock tock tock. 

“Stop! Stop!” Ms. June fever pitched the act so that a sliver only of the late afternoon sun shone on the wall and over Ms. June’s lap, over her spotted clutched hands. Delia sat down next to Ms. June’s twin bed smoothing her bright pink scrubs. “What’re we goin’ ta play tonight, Ms. June?” 

Ms. June shook her head speechlessly, brow furrowed, wringing her hands. Ms. June had long white hair hanging down her back. Delia lifted her arm tock tock tock tock tock and placed it gently on Ms. June’s childlike brittle back and silvery locks.

Big tears sprouted from the rheumy eyes, then began their long descent down Ms. June’s cheeks, finally splashing on her hands where her fingers interlaced into that deep canyon so that the sun glistened her tears. 

In response to writing 101’s assignment to expand on a comment. I didn’t comment but wanted to on a delightful post by Catherine on rhythm and sounds . Also this post is in response to a reader’s request for a story on a home health care worker. 


I write abecedarian sequences

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