when the sky has been ripped apart by invisible hands, people will hide under beds, tables, each other.

But now, as dust shimmers down, commuters and shoppers and parents clutching children’s hands imagine it’s merely a smattering of spring rain. They open umbrellas in reds, yellows, and purples. Even cerulean.

Laura Besley (she/her) writes short and very short fiction and enjoys exploring big topics in small spaces. She has published four collections, most recently: Sum of her PARTS (V. Press). She is currently a Creative Writing PhD student at the University of Leicester, an editor with Flash Fiction Magazine and runs The NIFTY Book Club. Having lived in the Netherlands, Germany and Hong Kong, she now lives in land-locked central England and misses the sea.