It’s August, so I’m easing back into microfiction.
Thanks to
for the prompt!Jennalyn smiled when the children came to visit. Hardly children anymore, they brought their little ones to hear the stories Jennalyn was famous for.
"Oh mama," they'd say, "Tell us again about the time that Pop pushed you on the swing so high that the chain looped around the top and you went all the way around! Tell us how you screamed for dear life until he caught you and then kissed you and how you were mad, but you married him anyway."
They asked for the stories, but in the asking, they told the tales themselves. The littles squirmed in their parents' arms.
"Granmama," one of the littles would ask, "Why don't you tell the stories anymore?"
A hand over the mouth stifled that query before it was fully finished. The "shush" of the stifler was overtaken by the start of another voice,
"Tell us again…"
Jennalyn just smiled.
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