
The mixed egg sizzled then turned fluffy in the small cast-iron pan. Don’t add milk,” she’d instructed earlier, asserting as much control she could in her diminishing domain. Across the room, she waited in her chair. “And don’t overcook it,” she added. “It dries out too much if you do.”
Egg done and on a tray, the daughter added a peeled clementine. The sections were tiny in the plain white bowl. Bothered by the smallness, she added a mini-muffin. “Want more coffee, Mom?” she asked. “Just a half-cup, and come sit with me so we can have a nice chat.”
Thank you for reading.
Reblogged this on Book Club Mom and commented:
Hi Everyone – just a little flash fiction over at Books To Pen. Take a look if you like!
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Good use of the prompt, Barbara.
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I enjoyed this, Barbara: Very sensory and concise. 🙂
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Thanks, Marian!
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Hi! Loved this! Thanks for following me, I’ve reciprocated. Nice to meet you!
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Thank you and glad to follow you too! 🙂
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So ‘simple’ a write but I could smell the eggs cooking and the feeling of looking into the bowl and seeing the small slices of clementine. It felt right to add the mini-muffin. There’s a whole lot of feeling in this.
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Thank you, Chatter Master. I made my mother (as did my siblings) a scrambled egg every time I visited. 🙂
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No wonder I ‘felt’ this so much.
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This is lovely. It sounds like a scene you’ve been a part of. 🙂
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Thanks, Jennifer – yes, you are right 🙂
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Love this, Barbara. I assume a special moment in time. xo
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Thank you, Lauren!
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I can definitely picture this scene, Barbara.
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Thanks, Robbie – I appreciate your comment 🙂
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