Short Story

Mama Alice…Short Story

Mama Alice wiped the sweat off her face and it must have been the tenth time or even more. I have lost count. I sat on the pavement of my house and watched her. It’s either she did not notice me staring or she didn’t mind. Altogether, she didn’t care about who was going or coming. She kept cleaning her stall

No one knows her people. No one visits her. We do not know where she comes from. She hardly entertain questions about herself or where she came from. She opens her stall 7 am each morning, then she closes very late at night. There are tired lines on her face but she tries to be friendly whenever she can.

She is always doing something she is never idle. I feel she is doing too much for her age. Perhaps, she will go back to where ever she came from, maybe her children will let her rest from all these toils. I will hate to find her dead one morning due to the kind of life she lives.

© Deborah Glover, 2017

In response to the daily Post prompt Overworked

Image credit; shuttershock

Until next time,


3 thoughts on “Mama Alice…Short Story”

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