Black Widow

“She’s talking about her six dead husbands again,” the front desk nurse said as I signed my name into the visitor’s log of Cedar Retirement Home.

At seventy years old and in the best shape of her life, Grandma could easily pass for fifty-five. However, with my busy Flight Attendant’s schedule, she was often lonely. So I checked her into an assistant living facility where she would always have an audience.

While the other residents were much too far gone to understand, she enjoyed their company—the wanderers in colorful fuzzy socks whose minds permanently resided in the early 1900s, the stroke victims whose numb left sides left them with the ability to utter only a few words (they were the best listeners).

Grandma sat in an armchair nearest the entrance door. Four other seniors huddled around her.

“…the hood slammed right on his head!” Grandma was saying.

“Husband number three.” I turned to the nurse. “He died fixing the engine on his truck.”

“Your grandma sure has the worst luck!” she said.

word count: 173

—Nortina


rattletrap-963641_960_720Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 75-175 using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.