“I left my baby at the trolley stairs.”
She’d been saying things like that all day. Talking about some man named John who went to war, and now this strangeness about a baby.
“Grandma, you don’t have a baby.”
I stroked the back of her ancient hand and listened to the beeps and footsteps and soft voices of the hospital. It wouldn’t be long.
Her rheumy eyes opened and found me. “Who are you?”
“It’s me, Katie.”
Her eyes turned sharp. “The things you leave behind always stay the same in your mind. It’s the things you keep, you lose.”
This has been an edition of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the talented Rochelle Wisoff Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Amy Reese. To read more 100-word flash fiction or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:
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