There’s no rhyme or reason to the quilt your mother’s crafted from the clothes you were wearing when you died. It’s small enough to cover the beautiful baby you won’t ever have. It’s a dirty t-shirt and bloody sweatpants.
She’s given your brother the one made from sparkling moments and hard-earned degrees. He’s down on his luck these days and ever so slightly thrilled.
She drapes the heavy quilt over her heart at night; swears she can feel you twitching. She pulls you close this time, cradles your head on dark wet tarmac and whispers, ‘I’m here. Don’t be afraid.’
This story was shortlisted in the April Monthly Micro Competition.
About the author: Julia Ruth Smith is a mother, teacher and writer. She lives by the sea in Italy. Her work has recently been chosen for publication in the NFFD Anthology, Reflex Fiction, Chaotic Merge Magazine and Anamorphoseis Magazine. You can find her on Twitter @JuliaRuthSmith1 or at the beach.