There she was, in the same position as when I left her. I don’t know why I checked on her in the morning, maybe I knew something was wrong. It seemed that she was sleeping fitfully. But it was now the afternoon, and she hadn’t moved. Arms akimbo, her left foot dangling off the edge of the bed.
I allowed myself a brief moment of hope and reached down to tap her on the shoulder. Ice-cold and stiff. Silent screams became audible. I ran out of the room, jumped up and down, hit the wall, trying to bring reality back. I check on her again. Arms stiff.
The voice on the phone asked, "911, what’s your emergency?"
"My mother is dead."
Hi CD – coming over from ML. First, I’m very sorry for your loss.
This is good–obviously, it’s short, a slice-of-life, but it’s evocative and visceral. There’s one small error in tense toward the end of the second paragraph, that made me wonder what this would sound like if it was written in the present tense…maybe that would give it even more of a visceral punch. Just an idea, if you’re interested in tweaking it at all.
I think you could write more slices like this, maybe different things you remember about her when she was alive; maybe bits of memory about her funeral or times since then when you’ve been grieving her. The individual slices could potentially make a larger story, like pieces of a quilt.