Mourning Nude At Night

Copyright – Randy Mazie
Copyright – Randy Mazie

“Why’d Mama wanna be buried all the way out here? Ain’t nobody gonna visit her grave once Auntie Rube passes on.”

“I hated comin’ here as a kid, sleepin’ on that screen porch so close to the graveyard and those goats bleatin’ all night!”

“Yeah, but remember hearin’ their muffled voices comin’ from inside the house, Mama and Auntie Rube laughin’ late at night?”

“I remember what you thought they said.”

“Fo somebody don’t allow no shoes in they house, yo floes show do get nasty, Rube Lee.”

“What you ‘spect? Be cleanin’ after bleedin’ ghosts mournin’ nude at night?”


This week’s flash was almost a poem about grief and the raw emotion people experience during dark times of life. Then the picture of rural Alabama came to mind and I thought about the old cemetery where my grandmother’s sister was buried. When I was a girl, sleeping on a screened porch in the summertime was what kids did. We could hear the adults laughing and talking in the kitchen late at night. One of us would always try to sneak in and listen to the interesting conversations about things we didn’t understand.

Just thought I’d give a little background for this flash fiction story.

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33 thoughts on “Mourning Nude At Night

  1. My house has a sleeping porch, it was closed in a few years back to make a mudroom – I wish I had gotten a chance to sleep out there. Loved the meter of this, Alabama.

  2. Oh, Honie, that was priceless! I loved how the dialect almost seemed to get thicker as the dialogue progressed (or should I say regressed) into the wonderful “Mournin’ nude at night” What a great play on words.

    1. Helena, it’s true, dialect is thicker for older generations. Annunciation in the south is almost a foreign concept. This is not a negative criticism, it’s just how it is. Word forms, conjoined twins and disjointed escape artists, line up in the brain, tuck and roll off the tongue, slowly flowing until they reach the targeted ear canal. Once inside, they pick up speed like that boulder in Indiana Jones. Glad you loved this.

  3. I absolutely love that line, Honie! I love that type of thing and have heard funny mis-hearing like that, too, although of course I can’t think of any right now. What I was thinking about while clicking on your link was that your husband or children or anyone coming home could call out, “Honie, I’m home.” Couldn’t help it. It just popped into my mind.


    1. Janet, that is exactly what my husband says when he comes home. Too funny. Somewhere on this blog I’ve written about the choice to use Honie as my name. It has to do with future grandchildren. Anyway, so glad you loved the story. I “mis-hear” things all the time.

    1. It is funny what kids hear. To this day, chicken nuggets are called chicken luggage around our house. Actually, as adults, what we think we hear sometimes is hilarious too. Standing in line behind a man ordering breakfast at the airport, I could have sworn I heard him ask for a moldy green bagel. I thought to myself, yuck! why would anyone order that?! Yeah, turns out due to a large inventory of multi-grain bagels, they were half price. I guess they are as popular as moldy green ones.

  4. Dear Honie,

    From the start I was intrigued by your title and wondered how you would work it in to the story. You exceeded my expectations by a long shot. Absolutely loved it.



  5. Sleeping on the screen porch. Yes, the memories. All the outdoor night sounds. It wasn’t scary. Back when adults kept adult things among themselves…and you hung around trying to hear, but they always knew and shooed you away.
    Nicely done

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