Memor Mora

Young Secret

A Grave Giant

Dunston Monster

The Only Color

Mother Dove

"What's the matter with you?"

Fred winced at the familiar query. Crouched, he held the paintbrush tight. He knew what came next. It never failed. Dipping the brush into the can, he sloshed white paint onto the fence.

Leaning on her walker, Mother Dove stood on the porch glaring across the yard. "Have a hole in your head?"

Paint slapped on wood turning mottled gray white. Bristles splattered paint on Fred's face. Frowning, he continued on pretending the old woman was dead.

"After Labor Day," said Mother Dove, "the yard can't wear white."

"Yes, Mother Dove," said Fred. The old woman was never quite right, but it seemed the accident had stolen more than her hip. "But the fence is a blight."

"Fred, my boy, paint the fence red." she said. "It will go with the leaves. Might as well, you'll not rake them anyhow." Mother Dove turned, moved her walker, clunking across the boards. She leaned on the handles, and her feet waddled a rump-rump sound. Clunk-rump-rump she went back inside.