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Weekly Contest #16
A woman’s husband had recently died, leaving her and their tiny baby boy in a crumbling wooden shack on a tall, grassy hill, in the shade of a twisted apple tree. The man had been cruel - a drunkard. Hard to make smile and harder to make kind. In the nights he still lived, the widow could never lie easily, for the marks of his displeasure would burn. She did not weep when they laid his body to rest, but simply hitched the child up further and walked back up the hill to the hut and the apple tree. Then, she got to work.&...
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