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.]
She kept jiggling her feet, apparently interested on the burn-mark running along the tablecloth. "What's this burn, Mamma?"
Taken aback, I stumbled while thinking up a ready lie. "Er...Nothing, baby. Just Mamma being careless with the candle."
"What's careless, Mamma?"
She was curious these days.
"Not watching closely what you're doing."
"Was Papa careless when he beat you?"
And bright.
"Clara? A for?" Stern look.
At once, her brows tightened. "A-V-O-C-A-D-O!" She said.
Gosh. Where did she learn this word? "What about apple?" I asked, picking up her notebook. "Haven't I...?"
'B for Ball(scribbled) Buterfly', it read.
Instantly, I remembered another evening when I had written 'A for ant'. My stepfather said, "Ants grow wings just before their fall", whipping my little wrist twice so I know A is for Apple, and nobody changes that.
"Mamma? You're careless now?"
I came back to this evening, caressing that scar, covered by a burn-mark from Clara's father when I slapped him to stop him from hitting me.
Searing crossed talons to clip my wings.
Later, I taught Clara 'F for Freedom' and 'W for Wings', redetermined to raise a would-be 'butterfly'. With double t.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
