The year is 2078. Rampant consumption has succeeded in burning a hole through the ozone layer.
Tag: flash fiction
The bell above the door jingled. Clark Tennyson looked up and smiled. “Hello Mrs. Hanniford, good to see you again. What’ll it be today?” he asked.
Just a few months ago you were a pink-faced, crying infant.
She sat on the bench and watched the sun drip into the ocean. Barefoot couples stood on the beach and clicked their wine glasses in a toast to another beautiful day . . .
I grit my teeth as I press my hand tighter against the hole in my stomach . . .
I was in a Central Park playground one autumn afternoon with two extremely high-energy young sons, when a local dad offered to organize a game with them and other kids in the park.
“Is a tail a private part of an elephant’s body? Is a tail a private part of a mouse’s body? I can see an animal’s tail, so is it not private?”
“Tickets! Tickets, please! Thanks, miss. Change at Long Branch.”
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