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Jack’s Story
Jack sat down at the table and pulled the bench closer so he could rest his head on the table. He crossed his arms and laid his head down, hoping his hands didn’t decide to go numb, forcing him to sit back up. It had been a hard day for Jack. He woke at five, did the household chores, went outside and tended to his animals, and finished any laundry that had accumulated this past week. He hated chores as much as he hated animals and laundry. He didn’t know why his late wife had insisted they move here and get animals. He would have been just as happy in the city. But since her passing last year, Jack had come to a regular routine, without anyone to argue with about it.
With his head on his hands, Jack sobbed. He missed Betsy and wondered why God had taken her so soon. As the tears rolled down his face and across his hands, he could smell the sulfur from the matches used to light his candle last night. Betsy had loved fires and candles. Just one more thing to keep him crying.
©2020 CBialczak Fiction
