Heir Looms
Her hutch, passed down through many generations, has survived fire and flood. She used to keep her better china in it. Then pretty knickknacks and collectibles, her treasures, things she thought her children or grandchildren might want after she’s gone.
Framed photographs now line the shelves of the hutch, all in order— all her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren— first-born to last-born.
The photos bring tears. So many grandchildren gone already, leaving their young children, some addicts at birth, having to live with their grandparents— her own aging children. Will any survive to take her hutch? Who will curate its treasures?
***
The Carrot Ranch January 2, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something found in a hutch. It can be any kind of hutch — a box for critters or a chest for dishes. Go where the prompt leads!
Here’s two more:
***
Unassailable
His brother was adamant that they did not, would not ever, like their stepdad. When asked why, his reasoning was unassailable.
“Because, that’s why.”
Now his brother stretched tiptoed, his fingers groping the highest shelf of the dusty hutch that their stepdad had brought up from the barn, his motivation that they’d been told to stay out of it.
“He’s hiding something.”
A loud snap and howls of pain precipitated an evacuation of mice through the open hutch doors.
“That jerk!”
He decided, with or without his brother, he’d help his stepdad fix up the hutch for their mom.
***
His brother, dramatically icing his fingers, still sulked and scowled even though their stepdad allowed he should have mentioned why he didn’t want the boys in the hutch, even admitted he himself couldn’t bear the thought of scurrying mice. The man seemed relieved but squeamish hearing how the boys had tilted the hutch, shaking and banging it, the dog eagerly involved in the eviction of the mice.
His brother stayed back, but he happily went to the barn with their stepdad to bring out another hutch.
This hutch would be his! What would he choose, a rabbit or hens?
***
ShiftnShake 
You had a few stories hiding in your hutch. I think there might be more selling of treasures from the first hutch than cultivating. At least, the other two will bring families together.
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I say rabbits. Definitely don’t choose a mouse.
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Hens! Hutches hold a lot — hopes and fears.
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Eggsactly.
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Wow! The first one hit “close to home” for me.
Mom had quite a picture and post card collection from the 1920’s until she passed away in 1993. I’ve been begging my kids to take some of her treasures — especially the pictures. There seems to be no one interested in caring for heirlooms.
Re: Grandparents raising children. I know of three, and all are due to the reason you cited. Great people with children who are addicted to something.
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Yes, this is happening everywhere. The “war on drugs” is an antiquated and meaningless tagline, but like war, the epidemic is leaving many families with a generational rift. As a teacher I no longer use the term parents in a blanket way with students as so many have different circumstances than what I knew as the norm way back when. Death or incarceration of their parents are not unusual circumstances.
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It is hard to break the chains of addictions be it alcohol, drugs or smoking…
but it can be done.
It is very hard sometimes to get step family to reconcile. I fought for years to keep mine talking and now… the tides seem to have changed. There have been reconciliations, miss steps and set backs. And sometimes I wonder if it is worth the effort to reach out to those who will not speak to you…
Your stories always touch the fabric and threads that make up the lives of those who read…
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Thank you Jules, that’s an encouraging comment.
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I learned somewhere along the line and I think Charli has repeated that when we write with our hearts even if it is something we are unfamiliar with – a piece of us stays with our writing and makes it easier for the reader to empathize with what ever situation we present.
I am always amazed that even when I state straight up front that a piece is fiction that there is still some who would think that I have lived the words I have written. Does that make me a good writer? Perhaps just a good storyteller and I’ll take that 😉
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Your first flash gave me goosebumps! Excellent Segway into the trials and tribulations of opioid abuse. Well done, D. ❤
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Thank you for your comment. This problem only seems to be worsening. And it’s every where.
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My sister has grandma’s hutch. I’m not sure anyone in the next generation (after ours) will want it, although it’s a beautiful piece of walnut furniture.
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Stuff. Hopefully the right stuff will end up with the right person who will also have a story to go with it.
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That first one – ouch! Right in the feelings!
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It only hurts because it’s true, ripped from the headlines of any town’s newspaper.
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Oh wow! Glad you can channel the feelings, not glad that it really happened.
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It’s not my story personally, just a common one hereabouts.
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A hutch of stories. Or is that a clutch?
The first one is sadly, far too true.
In the second two, I’m pleased the boys and their stepdad are working on their relationship.
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Hey Buddy! Yes, one of the boys is more than ready to lay down his defenses and have a male mentor. The other brother, not yet.
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Good things often take time. There is often wisdom in caution.
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