Gramma would always tell me to stay away from the stove that was set against the wall in the one room cabin that she and Grampa had up in the mountains. It was one of those old fashioned potbelly stoves that was used to heat the entire cabin. Grampa had laid a flat, thin stone atop the stove and Gramma would use its surface for cooking meals, keeping the water hot, and warming up her clothes iron.
Gramma warned me not to put my hand on top of the stove. It took only one time for me to learn why.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Valarie J. Barrett.