MA DIDN’T MAKE BROWNIES
by
Roy Dorman
January 16, 1935
“Were you ever like other mothers, Ma?”
Fred Barker and his mother, Kate “Ma” Barker, were hunkered down in a bedroom on the second floor of a rented “vacation retreat” house in Ocklawaha, Florida.
They’d come from somewhere “Up North” and were on the run.
Fred and Ma were shooting out of the window at FBI Agents who had the house surrounded.
They both knew they weren’t going to get out of this alive.
“Oh, when you and your brothers were little, I guess I was like most mothers,” Ma replied, taking a couple of shots at an agent who had taken the risk of getting closer to the house.
“Most dirt-poor mothers, that is. But when you boys took to crime instead of workin’, I just did my best to keep ya outta prison.”
“Yeah, I guess my brothers and me were a handful, Fred said, spraying the Federal autos on the front lawn with his Tommy gun.
Gunfire was returned and Fred took a hit to his shoulder.
“Damn!” said Ma. “Keep below the window sill, Fred.”
“Just a scratch, Ma. Did ya ever bake brownies for us?”
“Don’t think I did, son.”
Bio:
Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for over 70 years. At the prompting of an old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer. He has had flash fiction and poetry published in Black Petals, Bewildering Stories, One Sentence Poems, Yellow Mama, Drunk Monkeys, Literally Stories, Dark Dossier, The Rye Whiskey Review, Near To The Knuckle, Theme of Absence, Shotgun Honey, Punk Noir, The Yard, and a number of other online and print journals. Unweaving a Tangled Web, published by Hekate Publishing, is his first novel.