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Posted in Flash Fiction

Grand-mère said, grand-père painted the house blue. My mère said the bright blue kept the snakes away and the hunters from shooting at the house.

Why anyone would want to shoot a house?

Out in the swamp, up on the stilts, the house is an easy target. Mère said grand-père wanted no tracas, no mistakes. Grand-père wanted everyone to know they was home.

I know better. I remember. Grand-père told me when I was young. He told me they would come for him and I was not to be sad when they came.

We moved to town when they shot grand-père through the wall.