Darby Harmon
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Stories (1/0)
Waning
A little town, a lot of tradition. That is the motto of my hometown, Tawnitown. My family moved from somewhere up near the town of Accident after my father committed an unforgivable offense to the minister when he showed up at the church blind drunk and feigned he was speaking in tongues in the middle of the sermon before pissing himself in front of the whole congregation. It was, of course, an accident — at least according to my father. Every time Ma would hear him tell that story to one of his buddies, she would stare at the ground as if she were trying to bore a hole straight down to hell, her jaw clenched tight so not a word against her husband might slip out. You see, Ma was a good woman, a devoted mother, and a faithful wife. She knew when to speak, and when to stay quiet, a quality that my father forcefully instilled in all of us. Whenever Ma had something to say, but knew she had better not, she clenched her jaw so tight, sometimes I feared her teeth might crumble. I always remember her with a loud pop in her jaw every time she would yawn or sing.
By Darby Harmon4 years ago in Horror