“How old are you again?”
“I’m sixteen.”
A flash fiction piece by Gerald Reid.
She loved his thick jumpers, with the aroma of his tobacco soaked into the old threads. She loved his lop-sided beard, his missing…
Sam entered the joggers’ park and perched on the first bench he found. Dried up tears had left salty trails on his cheeks. It was his birthday. He was turning 6, but no one at home seemed to remember. With a broken heart and a small…
A window opens inwardsand welcomes unpolished shivers.I am standing alonecoated with nudityI am thinkingwe’re plants growned out…