Flash Fiction – Momma stopped singing on a sweat-sticky day.

The pump handle gives too easy, Tommy scoops some water from the bucket to prime it. Resistance is sweet, cool, Tommy lets the first stream of water pour over his hand and wipes his face, tasting a faint metallic edge. The second pump fills the pitcher half way up. “Comin’,” Tommy yells. Uncle Ed has been miserable all summer long.