I treasured the first picture of you as a mere blurry, half-baked blob, weeks before you arrived searching for,
Category: Flash Fiction Page 2 of 3
Image by Robert Armstrong from Pixabay
Victor wasn’t sad that his mother had died. A good innings, she’d said it herself. His eyelids drooped, bored by the monotonous tone of the solicitor’s voice. He didn’t need to hear that his mother left
Arthur gripped Nanny’s hand as the salty spray formed a crust around his nose. He peered through the railings into the deep and shivered. His baby sister, Alice,
Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay
8th March 2000 (Age 9)
It’s my 9th birthday today and Nanny gave me this diary, I was hoping for a pair of roller skates but
Boreas Winter wakes just before daybreak every morning with a five-minute stretch, followed by his ablutions. Within fifteen minutes of waking
Melanie cowered in the corner as her mother raged through the dingy flat. Every cupboard tipped out, their contents thrown at any target. Tins of Spaghetti Hoops rolled around the floor, their journey slowed by
Image by Michael Seibt from Pixabay
Arabella watched her mother and father go through the annual ritual of dressing the bookstore window. For thirty years
“Leave. Now. Before we wake up in the morning and regret what we’ve done.”
Susan’s words bounced around her head,
The door shuts, and the footsteps die. I take a few moments to calm my beating heart. My hands, tied behind my back,