sunny afternoons

I hated it! I hated Mommie for being dead. I couldn’t cry. I cried later. Maybe two days. Everything was over, the relatives gone. In bed with shock. The house was quiet like never before. Then there was a knock at the back door. I opened it, and it was that coolie who always sold the vegetables, “Where’s your Mommie?” he asked. I couldn’t say anything at first. ‘Girlie, where’s your Mommie?’ then I told him. “Dead.”

early-capital

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