Daddy was known in our backwoods holler as Deacon. When he got up on his stump near Heron River’s shady cool banks, folks gathered; no need for fancy clothes or stinging tithes. Daddy preached that the world was a sinful, yet pretty, place.
Mama proved it was ugly too.
Daddy, who was known to several ladies in Greenwood County as their back door man, got careless. Why Mama dragged me along that night, at just ten years old, I’ll never know. I can’t get the look on Miss Mamie’s face out of my head. And all that blood.
Our family skedaddled, long gone by daybreak; we stayed on the move for awhile.
By eighteen, I’d cried enough for the pretty and the ugly. No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife. I’m seeking deep-sea treasure.
I am today’s host for dVerse’ Prosery. I say:
Your challenge, if you choose to accept it, is to incorporate Ms. Zora Neale Hurston’s quote into a piece of prose. This can be either flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, but it must be prose! Not prose poetry, and not a poem. And it must be no longer than 144 words, not including the title. (It does not have to be exactly 144 words, but it can’t exceed 144 words.)