Mamma's Little Boy

Momma's Little Boy

“Oh, Jimmy!” She sobbed. “What did you do? What did you do?”

The room was dim, but she could see the bruises and the blood clearly enough.

“Momma told you! Over and over, she told you, that you would end up just like this. Would you ever listen? Oh no, not Mister Big Shot! Hell no! You just had to run around with them slutty women, you just had to smoke that crack pipe! Getting high and having fun was all that was ever important to you!” The sobbing woman struck him across the chest, again and again. Looking down at the blood smeared on her clenched fists she turned her back on him, holding her fists tight against her chest.

“You bastard,” she screamed before whirling back around to him, the blood smeared on her bodice, “you just couldn’t think of anything but that damn crack pipe, could you?”

Slumping to the floor beside him she sobbed loudly, pounding the floor over and over as her sobs echoed in the dim cold room.

“You stupid, wonderful, stupid, ignorant bastard!” Her sobs trailing off into sniffles and moans, she took a deep breath and staggered to her feet.

“We sure had some good times in the old days though, didn’t we?” She sniffed as she tried to pull a smile out of her twisted features.

“Oh, how we used to laugh when you would do your little dance.” She laughed, the tears shining in her eyes as she shook her head at the memories.

“How did it go?” She asked, as she clumsily attempted a little stutter step in her high heels, “Step, step, shuffle, twirl!” She sobbed out a giggle as she nearly fell across him.

“Oh, you were something in them days.” She sniffled again. “Mister Jimmy High stepping Jones! Momma used to get to laughing so hard she would havta go sit down. Momma loved your sorry, good for nothin' ass, the most ya know. Oh, she wouldn’t show it so’s the rest of us could see of course, but I knew and I think Little Carl knew too. Maybe that’s why he joined up with the army, tryin’ to prove something.”

Taking a small compact out of her purse, she studied her reflection for a few moments. “Those were a lot of long years and crack pipes ago, though.” She sighed. “A lot of years.”

With one last look at the crumpled and mangled body lying on the slab, she gently touched his shoulder as the morgue attendant pulled the sheet up over his head. Then she turned her back and stumbled from the room as the attendant slid her brother into the drawer.

Written for flash fiction at

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