Sunday Micro Fiction: Fifty Words, Five Prompted
On Arbor Day
Randall Brown
Mom danced us among birches, the twigs hands, trunks swaying like middle school couples to Kiss’s Beth. I heard banjoes; my sister, Morrison. She’d learned colors from Crayola, called sky cerulean indigo. My mom named our dance Conspicuous Destiny. It meant we were doomed, like leaves, to twirl like crazy.

For further reading, check out FlashFiction.Net’s suggested readings of flash fiction and prose poetry collections, anthologies, and craft books, by clicking here.
Subscribe to FlashFiction.Net by Email
Post Your Comment