Saturday, 26 June 2021

'Corners and Edges' by Marissa Hoffmann

The yellowing leaves were holding on, like Mummy. We came inside, we hushed. We cut apple pieces, drew pictures and crept secret deliveries up the stairs on a tray. Darkness felt bigger, we slept top-to-toe, Gorilla and Cattie too. Each morning, jigsaw pieces lay on our pillows, first the corners, then the edges. We worked by Mummy’s bed, no picture to guide us. Outside, the wind chased chatty leaves into groups, they whispered about letting go. But the snow shushed them the day Daddy rocked us, wet cheeked, he told us the rest of the puzzle we’d work out together.

 

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First published at Flash Frontier's Micro Madness 2019.

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'If Time is an Illusion' by David Luntz

“Then you can paint tomorrow any color you want,” Uncle Kev tells me in Chartres, circa 2004, walking below the stained glass windows of the...