Your voice does not come from your mouth. It comes from the icy needle pressed against your skin. Your mother's juicy bubbling in the pan. Your friend's pale ashes drifting in the wind. It's all you've loved and lost, humming the heartbeat that almost was.
YOU ARE READING
Flash Fiction and Short-Shorts
RandomAll stories here are 1000 words or less. Though small, they are big in meaning. There are also writing prompts for the dreaded block. The Rochambeau drawing is inspired by one of his portraits; the Lafayette one is not. If you are witty often enou...
