Something a I wrote for school, the assignment was to write a short story in southern dialect, so that's why it's so butchered.
I have another part in mind, dunno if I'll write it.

There was a knock on the door and an uncanny silence, ever since she passed, the house has been dull. Small footsteps steadily walked to a door that shook with the might of the almighty himself, “A'hm comin!”. As the 30 something year old single woman answered the door, she felt the lock jiggle on it's own. “Oh Lawd! She dun came back!”, she screamed as she backed away from the door, but the figure that entered the domicile calmed her. He was a man that had broad shoulders, and a farmer's tan that would make a sunbaked potato jealous. He came in and closed the door behind him,“Well Howdy Merla!”. Still startled by him, she clutched her chest in hopes to calm down, “YOU JERK”, she screamed again as she smacked him across the cheek, “Now why in god's green earth there would ya knock....then jus' come in?”. The startled male rubbed his cheek, but not for long, trying his best to look masculine, “I's still half mah house....an' we ain' talkin”.

“Marco....why ya here?”. He shifted his focus to the blonde woman with a pretty nice physique, about 5'7 with blue eyes, the perfect Aryan in Hitler's eyes. “Now look her', this is half mah house, and I'll do wut' I plese!”. She sighed, putting a hand on the bosom of her low cut dress, then clearing a strand of hair from her fair face, “I use to love ya, Marco, what happened ta us....”. Marco stood, lumbering over Marla, and pointed to a picture of an elderly lady that took a striking resemblance to her, “SHE HAPPEN'”. He stormed upstairs, mumbling words of curse under his breath.

She sat on the bed next to him, “Ya kno...maybe this ain't a bad thang...”, she bravely dared to grab his hand, “Mebbie we can make it work...”. He quickly let go of her soft, fair palm, but quickly grabbed it back, “She is gon' naw...”. Marco threw Marla on the bed and began to kiss her, Marla quickly reacted, straddling him and returning the french, her tongue intertwined with his. As time went by clothes were lost, and the two seamlessly became one.

When the finished, it was around eight, the summer sun just setting in the tangerine colored sky. Marco rolled off of Marla, reaching to a frilly dresser for a cigarette and a lighter, accidentally grabbing a bottle of Percocet. “Dammit, I am so glad she don dyed!”. Marla stroked Marco's bare chest gently, kissing him gingerly on the lips, “She ain't gonna come t'ween us no mo”. Marco smiled at the statement, “I hated ha stoppin us when we was younger...”. Marla steadily moved her hand to his muscular arms, “Motha was so....tight”. Both of them stare at a picture of two young children and a mother, one a boy that looks six, another a girl that looks four, not far behind, and they both sigh in soiree. The mother seemed to be a younger version of the older lady in the other portrait, smiling, reeking of gratification that day, a clear opposite of the older woman. As Marco put the bottle of pills back, the picture of the older woman fell, shattering to thousands of pieces. Neither seemed to care, now in a house of their own. Both blonde haired, blue eyed lovers kissed each other for the first of what would be many times. “Just like when we were kids?”, asked Marco.

His mate silently nodded as the both stared into the sunset, dark clouds now coming overhead that mixed into the earth's ceiling like steel in a melting pot. As it began to rain, the clouds did not completely trap the sun. “You know”, Merla said, “Dey say the devils gettin' hitched”. Marco sighed, “Momma's got ha third husband”