Mom was always losing or fighting with her 18-hour Playtex girdle. It seemed as if this contraption had a mind of its own, wanting to be seen, calling attention to itself, almost like a neon light flashing from a bar window.
A relatable tale about the value of motherhood.
Emma knew there were 11 children in the cemetery. She had counted. She needed to know she wasn’t alone in her suffering. Sometimes she wondered what their stories were, how their families were coping. She never saw anyone at their graves. Did nobody love them anymore? Were they lonely? Occasionally a toy would appear, leaning against a headstone, but she seemed to be the only parent who visited her child regularly. Would she ever stop coming?
There was water rising in the basement. Cold, dark, murky, slimy, water. Being a woman alone, a single mother, without a man, she had no idea what to do about it.
A touching true story about grief and the special bond between Mother and Daughter.
Krysta rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Running them down to the bridge of her nose, she applied pressure to the well-defined cartilage. Her meagre efforts to ease the throbbing headache that threatened to reduce her to a sobbing mess, were futile.
A short and sweet story about the meaningful things we allow our children to steal from us.
She stared fixedly at the beige jacquard wallpaper that clothed the far wall of her room. The subtlest of smile’s tugged at the faintly wrinkled corners of her mouth as she observed the sunlight dancing with the shadows of the tree branches in an exuberant waltz.
An inviting micro tale, full of warmth and nostalgia about a forgotten baby oak.
Outside, here in the garden, the fresh air has blown away the cobwebs and the sunshine has fused her neural wiring. Pulling up the roots, teasing apart the strangled knots, picking up the windfalls and turning over and over the soil that clouds the water. I stand there, at the top of the path, watching. She hasn’t seen me yet. I don’t want to jinx this moment where, in this one place, her world makes sense. She’s tiny now, with the tenacity and strength of a little sparrow.
An intense piece of Flash Fiction about a Mothers life altering choice.
We would like to say a huge THANK YOU to Fiona M. Jones of the UK, for her non-fiction micro story entitled ‘Mud’. You can read the story below or click here to go to a separate page. We hope you enjoy reading this story and don’t forget to check out our many other wonderful…
Everyone on this planet has a story to tell, in fact everyone has many stories to tell. Inspiring stories, sad stories, happy stories, humorous stories, wacky and weird stories, the list goes on. A great deal of these stories involve a Mum or Grandma or deal with motherhood in general and these are the stories…