Home > Flash Fiction > A Time to Stand

A Time to Stand


The dusty roads of Georgia and the sweet smell of cobbler was calling Mason home. He clearly remembered the way to Grandma Bertha’s house, though he’d been gone thirty-six years. He crossed the state line into Augusta and his hands trembled like weeping willows in a May rainstorm.

“Surely times have changed”, Mason thought while parking at a roadside fruit stand.

He bought a bag of peaches then tasted one, savoring the warm juice and forgetting decades of fear. He stretched his bum leg before limping back to his car, hopefully unrecognized. He desperately wanted to lay eyes on Grandma first, before anyone saw him.

When he arrived at the old house on Grace Street he wished he had been around to keep it up. The porch creaked when he pulled the screen door latch.

Mason sighed, “Country folk still leave their doors unlocked”. “Grandma”, he yelled as a broom handle met his temple. “It’s me, Mason!”

“My Mason? Praise Jesus!”

Grandma embraced him with a mix of joy and fear.

“I wanted cobbler, Grandma.” Mason handed her the bag and grinned like he was seventeen again.

“Boy, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed to come home, for my soul’s sake.”

Mason sat at Grandma’s kitchen table for hours and devoured the cobbler. He told her stories of Canada, his grown children and the wife he’d recently lost.

Extremely frail, Grandma lowered her head. “I hate I missed your life but you had to go.”

A knock made Grandma jump. Her watery eyes pleaded with the boy she’d raised.

“I’d rather die not seeing you again than let them get you.”

“I can’t run anymore, Grandma.”

Mason stood with pride on his mangled leg and opened the door.

“Mason Perry, you’re under arrest for the 1938 rape of Jolene Hollingsworth.”

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  1. Chief
    July 12, 2011 at 9:16 AM

    Oh wow…sound like Mason needs Anthony Mason…LOL. Great story!

  2. Chief
    July 12, 2011 at 9:26 AM

    BOL! I meant to say PERRY Mason…the lawyer…get it. LOL 🙂

  3. Chief
    July 12, 2011 at 9:36 AM

    Anthony Mason was a basketball player…sorry! 🙂

  4. neshonne
    July 12, 2011 at 10:30 AM

    Hmmm away for thirty- six years!? From Granny and that good old cobbler…accused of rape in the good ol’ south….has my curiosity aroused!! Nice piece, Lady!

  5. Casey Robbins
    July 17, 2011 at 11:58 AM

    Excellent. Your stories remind me of some of Chekhov’s works. I’d love to read a novel of yours when you write it.

    • July 17, 2011 at 4:08 PM

      Thanks Casey! I take that as quite a compliment! My stories do have unconventional or unresolved endings but no one has ever compared them to Chekhov’s short stories. I actually didn’t know who he was until I decided to create my own flash fiction stories. The novel is definitely in the works but it looks like I might finish my collection of short stories first, longer stories not flash fiction. I probably should work on one project at a time 🙂 I will definitely let you know whenever either is finished, hopefully this year.

      Oh, thanks for reading and commenting!

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