Inheritance of fear

I watch my four-year-old son spring from rock to boulder — a little mountain goat — giggling with pleasure.

“Don’t fall!” I call, my motherliness rising like bile in my throat.

He doesn’t hear, and keeps climbing — surefooted, confident.

I hope he never hears my anxiety.



This post was written for the YeahWrite #420 Microprose Challenge grid. Click on the badge (above) to read other entries, and to vote. Leave a comment for the writer letting them know what you enjoyed about their work too!

Still Unmarried

“And when will you marry?” A thousand disapprovals danced beneath his words.
“When you find me a suitable suitor.”
“Give me your requirements.” He scrambled for pen and paper.
Rolling my eyes I listed; “Tall, handsome, wealthy. Doctor, lawyer, or engineer.”
“At your age,” he said, “isn’t sapience enough?”

This entry is submitted for YeahWrite #373 Microprose Challenge. Click the badge to read other entries. Don’t forget to comment and vote while you’re there!

Image credit: Jowhar Tirur/pexels

The Last Thread

My fingers trace the ridges on the back of her hand, puckering the skin. The silken thread of her life pulled too tightly.

“Lack of turgidity. A sign of dehydration,” my doctor-cousin informs me brusquely. But I know better. The Fates await her with sharpened scissors and a single eye.


I didn’t post in this week’s YeahWrite Microprose #312 grid, but I love flash/microprose and wanted to play along with the other YeahWriters. The single word prompt was hand. This piece, about my maternal grandmother, is nonfiction.

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Baby Elephant March

They appear, carrying your fragile heart in their hands.

Shlurrpff, off the breast.

“I do myself”; an experiment in feeding.

Mismatched clothes, and shoes on the wrong feet.

Backpack on and away to school.

Friends and teams.

Is that my car?

Silence.