The notebook I gave you at the beginning of us, filled with words you call poetry. The mug with the coffee tidemarks I tried to bleach once. The bathrobe you stole from an ex. The secret condoms in your jacket pocket. The awards you say mean nothing, in their silver frames. And the guitar you would strum, telling me I was the only one. You’ll pick up these pieces of you tomorrow. But who’s going to pick up the pieces of me? I trample the guitar with the heels you loved. Then I dump it. All those pieces of you.
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FlashFloods 2022 Best Small Fictions Nominations
We are thrilled to announce our 2022 Best Small Fictions nominations: A girl by Melissa Llanes Brownlee Detached by Anika Carpenter ...
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One day the planet tilted just ever so slightly to the left and everyone and everything I’d ever known in between fell off. It wasn’t easy t...
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A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...
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A girl sits, waiting. She reaches above her head for a girl. A girl to pluck from the tree of girls. The tree is full and ripe, the perfect ...
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