The Grandmafia – Flash Fiction

I could feel the car sway as my captors attempted, and successfully lost my bearings. The burlap potato sack covering my head was thick and scratchy. I could barely breathe through the course fabric, duct tape sealed my lips making it even harder. We drove for I don’t know how long, maybe an hour, or half-hour. We finally reached out destination. I was roughly pulled out of the car. I heard a young man say,

“Grandmother will not be pleased.”

“Shut, up,” Said an older woman. “You know how much she loves company.” I gulped. My knowledge of the mafia suggested that Grandmother was in charge, instead of the usual Papa-whoever or Grandfather. It was terrifying that a woman had men doing her bidding. Men don’t like that type of power dynamic very much. I was thrust into a doorway. The smell hit me like an atom bomb, but not in the way I expected. I expected smoke, maybe liquor but I smelled sugar cookies, bread, and other sweet things. I was shoved onto a stool, but I wasn’t tied up. I heard an elderly woman say,

“Leave us. And take off that bag now, would you dear.” I was blinded by sudden light and pain as the bag was whipped off my head and the duct tape ripped off my mouth. Rubbing my lips and blinking profusely I looked around. I was in a large, homey feeling kitchen. This kitchen felt familiar but I suddenly remembered why when I saw the only other person in the room. It was an old lady, wearing glasses, a black hoodie with the hood drawn up. She had been playing Payday on a custom board and with real money. I knew that game board, I knew this kitchen, I knew this lady.

“Hi, Grammie,” I said.  She smiled and said,

“Hello, sweetheart, would you like a cookie? I made sugar cookies, I know they’re your favorite.”


HEY GUYS! I feel like ya’ll deserve a cookie. Consider this post a cookie. 


2 thoughts on “The Grandmafia – Flash Fiction

  1. Great surprise ending–to some of us! I am sure The Grammie was frowning about the duct tape though! She probably has better methods of getting her way . . .


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