The Snake in the Glass

Aunt Hilda came for a cuppa. By the time she left, mom had missed the bus. ‘That woman can talk the hind legs off a monkey.’ As well as muddling her phrases, mom blamed others — ‘if she hadn’t made me late for bingo, we’d be a few quid richer, instead of being on the treadline.’

It wasn’t her fault. It was love’s. Love had lured her into marrying the old man. Love had coiled itself and made her stay. Love had fed. She blamed love for everything. When cousin Sarah got divorced after a year, she said: ‘I told you, people in greenhouses shouldn’t gather stones.’

But even when she cursed the old man, there was love beneath the regret. I had hoped the news of my engagement to Paul would reawaken those feelings. But all she said was: ‘Hark my words! That man is nothing but a snake in the glass. And the glass is always cleaner on the other side.’ I guess that was her way of saying she loved me.

© 2017 The Wasted Love Song
In response to: FFfAW Challenge-Week of July 4, 2017 #2
Image credit: Kecia Spartin


Many thanks to Priceless Joy for organising Flash Fiction of Aspiring Writers.

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