The Rooster Crowed

The check bounced and we didn’t have no money for Bobby’s shoes. His toes were plumb stick’n out of the flapping soles. We tried using duct tape but that wore out, too. Bobby just couldn’t go barefoot no more with snow on the ground. His gramma made him wool socks… a pair to wear inside the shoes and a larger pair to wear outside the shoes to hold them on for just a little bit longer.

All I could do was run my hands through my hair, what little was left of it.  Ma said that’s why I was going bald early… thirty-three years old and hardly any hair and just a shopkeeper’s clerk job that don’t pay enough to feed a family of rats. Yeah, I know. I need to cover that hole in the side of the steps. Ma and Bobby are tired of chasing rats and mice in the house and we can’t even afford to keep a cat to do the exterminating job.

What time is it? 3 a.m.? Dang, I can’t sleep with all these things to worry about. The old Ford is rusting. We can’t even pay for gas anymore. Might as well sell it, Ma says.

We don’t have money for coal or gas. I’m sure glad my brother, George, helped cut wood last weekend. At least, we can stay warm by staying near the wood burning stove. Ah, I think I’ll just tip-toe back to bed on this darn-awful cold floor and see if I can get some shut-eye.

Hmmm… roll this way. Roll that way. Put on another blanket. Okay. Finally, maybe I can warm up and sleep.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” The rooster crowed.

Dang! What did we get that old rooster for anyway? Can’t he tell time?

Precious Linda, c. 2012

Note: This was written in my Practice Writing Group, with the randomly chosen phrase, “the rooster crowed” for 10 minutes.