Time just keeps getting away from me, but this is the closest I’ve ever cut it. I’m writing this with 12 minutes to spare. Ha.

Thanks to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter


I never told anyone what I saw that late gray afternoon. The shadow of the man cast on the yard. How I shivered as my nose pressed against the cold glass pane before I turned away, thinking it my imagination.

Later I’d hear the awful crunch. Mother’s inconsolable cries. The whine of the ambulance.

“Danny dove off the roof,” Nicky said.

Even now, fifteen years later, I shudder, remembering. All these years wondering what if I had told someone. The what-ifs repeat like a metronome as I watch them lower Mother to her early grave.

The blame is mine.


ps I wrote this in my head, which is something I tend to do. Because I had the thread of the idea, I will probably polish this one soon. I rarely toss my first drafts at you all. I do apologize this time around.

19 thoughts on “Blame

    1. Thank you, Dale. Much appreciated. The only problem with writing in your head is when you remember an important line ten minutes later that didn’t make it into the story because, well, in my head. lol

  1. Enjoyed your story, rather belatedly – sorry. Your leaves… I thought for a moment there was something crawling down my screen… :0

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