Mama decided the family tree needed pruning. Sturdy branches could stay; twigs had to go.
I was flimsy. Always had been. God knows I tried to branch out.
She looked at me… a long, hard stare.
I turned away, but I could still hear the rustling of those graceful limbs.
Susan Gale Wickes is from Indiana and has never been removed from her family tree.
I love how you’ve taken a tired metaphor and created a narrative. Now I want to read the novel. As a narrator, she might be able to create a monster mother with a penchant for bonsai, or a narrator who misunderstood an idle remark and built a whole personal cosmos around it. Anyway, I like this and its threatening last line.
Thanks, BLucey. You’ve inspired me to branch out with some new plots!