Wrinkles
Some things can never be ironed out
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ironed anything. Beyond recollection certainly, but this shirt had to be perfect.
She spritzed some water and guided the iron like a planchette on a ouija board.
The steam fogged her glasses as she smoothed the collar. Finished.
She balled the shirt up. Laid it back down.
The mortician was waiting. No one would see her son in his closed casket, but she had to start again.
Her tears sizzled under the hot iron, the salt embedded in the fibers of the last thing her boy would ever wear.
About the Creator
Howard Irons
He writes. Sometimes a lot. Sometimes very little. But he writes.
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Instructions for Replacement
These instructions are intended for ordinary use. They are not a guide to reinvention, only adjustment. Follow them carefully and in order. Skipping steps may result in confusion, emotional exposure, or relapse. If done correctly, the transition will appear seamless to others. You will continue to function. You will continue to be addressed by the same name. Only the internal mechanisms will change.
By Courtney Jones5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (9)
Wow. Impactful writing. Simply mesmerizing. Not overly sentimental, but evocative, heartfelt and gripping. Congratulations on a richly deserved placement.
First of all, congrats on your placement! Second, excellent job portraying a grieving mother attempting to carrying on what normally would be a simple task. The scrunching up and crying on the shirt that would clothe her dead son made my eyes water.
Wow - this one packed the biggest punch. So poignant and well crafted - well done 👏
Oh wow So sad ;-;
Haunting and very sad 😭
This is very impressive. Excellent!
Well done congratulations on Runner up!!!♥️♥️💕
Congrats!! 🎉 Excellent story! This hit my emotions hard! ❤️
Congratulations. I’ve loved this compelling story. Well done. ! 🥇