Apple pie and mom

Childhood memories

The smell of freshly baked apple pie with cinnamon always reminds me of home. Aromas are always the best way to remember.

Every week, mom would bake pies, and then cool them on the windowsill, their scent wafting through the farmyard. They sure smelled better than the stench of our pig barn, where we kept the sows.

We knew that if we got home early after school, and did our chores, we'd get a nice piece of warm apple pie with a hunk of sharp cheese, as reward.

Those were glorious days. No cares, worries, or debts. Growing up sucks…

This story is in response to this writing prompt.

If you liked this story, here’s another of my short stories that’s a little spookier.