Friday Flash Fiction

Photo Courtesy of Sandra Crook

Photo Courtesy of Sandra Crook

My mom had an old Singer sewing machine that had the knee activated treadle. It was quite a sight – she’d sit and sew, needle clicking through the fabric evenly as she made clothes for all of us kids.

I learned to sew early, making my own clothes to stretch my allowance further. I can remember the time I started to see clothes being sold for cheaper than I could ever make and sewing became a thing of the past. I never made any clothes for my own kids – blankets, maybe, but why bother when you can buy clothes ready-made for less?

I donated my sewing machine to a charity when I moved last month. It sat in a closet for 20 years, only being pulled out to hem something or fix a seam. It felt like a betrayal of my past, leaving behind a skill that was no longer necessary, something passed down from mother to daughter for generations.

Word count: 100

A Stitch in Time

Time was, I sewed clothes to save money, a skill I learned from my mama on a machine like this one here. Now they’re all made for me, cheaper than buying the yardage even. Disposable world we live in – nothing made to last.

Mama’s machine served her to the end, no need for an electrical one or fancy stitches. Just her foot steady on the treadle and the patience to stitch straight.

Feeling disposable myself these days, waiting out death in the home. Maybe my kids’ll come today. Been a few weeks, but patience was never my strongest virtue.

To see other stories, please visit the Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site here.
© Erin Leary

Flash Friday Fiction

icon-grill-ted-strutzPicture courtesy of Ted Strutz

I worked in a personal theme this week.  For more information, see my post from last week here.  For those of you who might wonder, Warner’s Safe Kidney & Liver Cure was a real thing.  In fact, the bottle it was in are collectible today, priced about $200 on eBay.  If they were full, I just might consider it.

Word Count: 104

Good for what ails you

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Sizing him up as the next drunk she’d serve that night, Gloria arched her brow. “Help you?”

“Yes’m.  I’m in dire need. Got any Warner’s Liver Cure?”

“What’re you talking about?” The stink on him was strong.

“Brown bottle.  Everyone knows Warner’s.”  His yellow eyes implored her to try.

“Alright – no promises.” Sighing, she turned, looking at the highest shelf.  Dusty, forgotten, a brown bottle winked at her. “This it?”

“Amen! Cured at last.”

Reaching for it, he was gone, mist marking his spot. 

Amazed, Gloria went back to wiping the bar.  Couldn’t even try to make sense of that one.

Please check out the links to all the other Flash Friday Fictioneers, which can be found here.

© Erin Leary