Flash Fiction: Simmer

simmering-pot

Sunday dinner, and my best friend was coming over. Misty vapor rose from the pot simmering on the back burner, brimming with raw chicken throats.

I set Billy’s place at the table with a red and white checked place mat. I looked at the kitchen clock. Billy was late.

There was a little blood on the corner of Mom’s apron. I asked if she’d cut herself. She looked askance.

“I don’t like you hanging out with that boy,” she said. “He smokes. I seen him behind the dumpster at Carson’s Drug Store.”

“Mom, you didn’t,” I said. “Not again.”

~99 words

via Daily Prompt: Simmer

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