Friday Fiction-Murder’s Foul Smell


She’d winced as she picked the carcass up by two fingers.  Gross!

She hadn’t meant to be the means of ending life when she crawled out of bed this morning. Why’d that stupid bird just stand there, never flinching when she came around the corner?  It had to see her coming, could have flown away, but didn’t.  Why not?

Instead, it defiantly stared her down as the moving-too-fast-to-stop vehicle she was driving took it’s life.

Sure, it was just a chicken. A foul wandering along a deserted stretch of highway, but maybe a momma, too.

Maybe a hen with chicks.

Maybe a bird with business.

Maybe someone’s provider.

She knew how it felt to bear that weight on fragile shoulders and she mourned for the bird.  Crossed herself.  Turned away for the briefest of moments in respect for the dead.  Regardless, into the stew pot it went, because when you’re a single mom living on welfare and child support you don’t waste resources.  Any resources.  You use what God sends you, and she did!



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