Hi all! As we sit in quarantine and twiddle our fingers, I have decided to share one of my flash fiction stories with you all. I know some might not care, but this is one of my newer pieces and is more on the traditional side of my work. I toned down the dramatics and wrote a story like none of my other work. Give it a read, leave some edits, provide some feedback! Enjoy this little “quarantine read.”<\/p>\n
Bremont\u2019s Farm<\/strong><\/p>\n My daddy always wanted me to come visit my grandaddy\u2019s farm. He would tell me stories upon stories about the things he did on that farm. My favorite story was when he almost cut half the harvest crops because he got to drunk and thought they were little goblins in the field. Oh, the whoopen my grandaddy laid on him must\u2019ve been so great. Now that I have reached the able age of 21, I\u2019ve decided to take up the offer and stay at my grandaddy\u2019s farm for a few weeks before coming back here to work. I\u2019ll miss seeing the bright, shining lights outside my window when nothing filled my room but darkness. I\u2019ll miss hearing the obnoxious chatter of whatever poor, New Yorker passed by my window. I\u2019ll miss the city. Albeit, I won\u2019t be gone for long, but this will be my first time out the state since I was a little girl. <\/span> Hi all! As we sit in quarantine and twiddle our fingers, I have decided to share one of my flash fiction stories with you all. I know some might not care, but this is one of my newer pieces and is more on the traditional side of my work. I toned down the dramatics and … Continue reading “Bremont’s Farm”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":46,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8778"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/46"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8778"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8778\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8796,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8778\/revisions\/8796"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8778"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8778"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8778"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nTraveling down south won\u2019t be an easy trek. With the distance between New York and Louisiana, I\u2019ll be sitting on this train for hours. I have some activities to keep my interest, but I know at some point I might just lose my marbles. The old lady behind me keeps asking me questions about my hair and how I keep it so clean. Everytime I think I\u2019ve ended the conversation with her, she somehow comes up with a brand new question. Once I heard the voice over the intercom call out, \u201cWe will be arriving in Louisiana in 10 minutes. I repeat, we will be arriving in Lousiana in 10 minutes,\u201d I damn near jumped out of my seat.<\/span>
\nStepping off the train, I suddenly yearn for the smell of gasoline and cologne. I see no tall buildings, barely any people, and the silence around me slowly fills my entire body. I miss home. I miss everything about it, but I suck it up and begin my journey to the Bremont Farm. <\/span>
\nAfter walking for what felt like 2 hours but was really 20 minutes, I see my grandaddy standing tall while leaning against the \u201cBremont Farm\u201d sign infront of the driveway.<\/span>
\nWith open arms, I gather him in a hug. \u201cHey there grandaddy. I missed you\u201d<\/span>
\nHis deep, southern accent filled my ears and my heart at the same time.<\/span>
\n\u201cThere\u2019s my little blackberry. Here I\u2019ll take your bags while you go freshen up for dinner. Your Aunt Claudia is in the kitchen breaking down her roses for her homemade jam. She said she could use your help.\u201d<\/span>
\nI simply smile and nod my head while trying to remember who my Aunt Claudia is. I vaguely remember hearing about her, but nothing to match a face to. <\/span>
\nAs I finish cleaning myself up, I walk into the kitchen and saw a woman I\u2019ve never seen before.<\/span>
\n\u201cAunt Claudia?\u201d<\/span>
\nShe turns around with a wide smile on her face.<\/span>
\n\u201cThere she is. His little blackberry. Come, come!\u201d<\/span>
\nI laugh and walk further into the kitchen before she shoves a knife in my hand.<\/span>
\n\u201cStart cutting down these rose petals into their smallest size. Put them in the jar and shake!\u201d<\/span>
\nI do as I\u2019m told and get to work. I spark up the conversation to end the deafening silence in the room.<\/span>
\n\u201cWhy does he call me that?\u201d<\/span>
\nShe lookes at me puzzled. \u201cCall you what sweetie?\u201d<\/span>
\n\u201cHis little blackberry. Why does he call me that?\u201d<\/span>
\nShe lets out a wide smile.<\/span>
\n\u201cHave you ever heard the saying, \u201cthe blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice?\u201d<\/span>
\nI think for a minute.<\/span>
\n\u201cIt sounds familiar, yes.\u201d<\/span>
\n\u201cWell, when you were born, you had such a rich, dark skin tone. It was flawless. He said it looked like the color of a little blackberry, hince why he calls you that.\u201d<\/span>
\nI smile at myself and at the new found information. I look up to the window infront of us and see grandaddy walking with my bags. Like he sensed me watching, he turned to the window and sent me a bright smile. I look down to the rose petals and smile ever wider. I\u2019m glad I chose to come here. I see what my daddy saw and I intend to make some great memories here.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"