My invisible unicorn dies, so I dig a big hole in the garden and sing a happy song. My parents come outside and frown.
“If he’s in unicorn heaven,” they say, “why dig the hole?”
I cry, and they hug me. I love all this.
My unicorn dies quite often.
Brenda Anderson’s fiction has appeared in various places, from Andromeda Spaceways to SpeckLit. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia and tweets irregularly.
Every time I change my body, they put me in a new cage, poke, prod, then leave.
Clang goes the door.
My hate builds so much: I become a rope and slither over to the wall. Now I’m bricks. Wait ‘til visiting time. This brick wall’s gonna bust out. Watch.
fiction has appeared in various places including ASIM and SpeckLit. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia.
I walk past the boutique clothes store. Inside, someone is burning a scented candle: coconut and lime tonight.
From the café next door drifts the warm aroma of high-end coffee and vanilla beans.
I linger in the sweet spot between shops. Should I buy a drink, or just keep inhaling?
Brenda Anderson’s fiction has appeared in various places including defenestration and Fiction Vortex, and will appear in SpeckLit. She loves the offbeat.
Granny Nanny’s mean.
She dances to pounding music then oils her knees.
I hide the oil can.
She creaks and freezes, right in front of the fridge.
I’m starving. I can’t reach the handle. I’m too small to push her out of the way.
Fine. I get the oil can.
Brenda Anderson‘s fiction has appeared in Andromeda Spaceways, A Cappella Zoo, Punchnel’s, and Penumbra. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia.
On the path outside the Old Folks’ Home I bend and sniff winter jonquils. Inside, an old lady spots me and waves. She seems agitated. Wait! Maybe she’s raising the alarm.
I wave back and saunter off, looking extra casual. I admit it: I’m a brazen perfume thief, unrepentant, too.
Brenda’s fiction has appeared in Andromeda Spaceways, A cappella Zoo, Punchnel’s and Penumbra. She lives in Adelaide, South Australia.