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.
Tag: flash fiction
Just a few months ago you were a pink-faced, crying infant.
I brew a pot of coffee and try not to think of the corpse in the basement.
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.”