A collection of flash fiction.
A string of daily mundane stories, wreathed with words and a lot of compassion.
[Some of these short stories have been recognised by various literary organisations.]
Summer holidays meant wagon rides and a delicious break from school.
On the run for letting the poultry loose, my brother and I were making a hidden tree-house.
Later, we would have gone to the bank, devoured stolen nuts, nailed floorboards, as punishment. Together, we would have made jokes. Of weak spots on the fence and on Granddad!
However, the tree-house being too feeble, our hands slippery from juice, hearts too unwilling, he fell to his death.
Standing on the desolate bank, I glance at the familiar walnut blooms at Johnson's. I wonder how we never discovered the weak spot in life.
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