Here she goes, again. Is there a man? When Rob left her, I was relaxed. That drunkard vomited over my flower-bed every week. No wonder, the land is barren. Like Sheila. Many men and no children. The whole baby thing was such a turn-off for Sam and he ran straight into my arms. I hear he is locked up.
I like the boy who is mowing her yard. He was fixing her rocking chair, earlier. Lucky bitch! I am just an old, invalid woman whose kids never visit her.
He looks at Rosie Smith sitting on a wheelchair, in her patio.
She tightens her grip as he approaches.
“Sam,” she whispers.
Word Count: 110
Above in response to Voice week 2013 – voice 3