We brought a dead fox into our house.
My sad mother said, “We can’t leave it there, not like that.” She tidied it up, sweetened its death mask.
I felt sick but sad too, just like mother said.
The fleas thought, “This is the best thing that’s happened to us.”
Richard lives in England and enjoys wondering where his readers are.
Dozens of rabbits frolicked about in our back yard, blissfully unaware of threat in the lush green grasses.
But soon came a predator, a fox, lean and hungry, and one by one the rabbits vanished.
Yesterday the fox lay in the road, killed by a predator in a passing car.
Catherine Mathews, a retiree of the Foreign Service, spent time in Paris, Rome, Tel Aviv, Athens, Frankfurt, and Istanbul. She has published a memoir and enjoys writing short fiction.
One, two, crackle, crack, three, five, ten eggs snap open. Mother Sauropod watches her family emerge from a crevice in cooled molten rock.
They wiggle between ferns, over wooden debris, broken concrete. Past skeletal remains: “Homo sapiens,” the mother states.
Nearby lies a torn book cover, words “global warming” intact.
Krystyna Fedosejevs lives in Edmonton, Alberta. She writes and publishes poetry as well as flash fiction.