Unsurprisingly, you’re the main character, fully responsible for the plot, constantly calculating and determining the storyline. Without you there is no direction, no structure, no foundation. You’re the weaver twisting shadowy emotions into ribbon cables, looping lengths methodically around drip lines connected to open wounds. Face it. You’re the hero.
Bob Thurber is the author of six books. Regarded as a master of Flash and Micro Fiction, his work has appeared in Esquire and other magazines, been anthologized 60 times, received a long list of awards, and been utilized in schools and colleges throughout the world. He resides in Massachusetts. Visit his website at BobThurber.net.
Her first tattoos were memorials. Then an image, then a symbol of sobriety. Each enriches her story. She embellishes her canvas with great care; her children are amused but shrug.
She is making a burning bowl of her skin.
One day everything she is will rise into the morning sky.
Melody Leming-Wilson teaches poetry in Portland, Oregon. She is about ready for a new tattoo.
Another day starts. You wake weary and late. Whip on a dress suit, hairspray, lippy, and name tag. No time for brushing your teeth. No matter. You never smile at the office anyway.
Clutching a tepid coffee, you’re out the door and running, racing towards the end of your life.
GB Burgess works from home now and smiles every day.
18: The pelican on my shoulder reminds me to slow things down, live calmly.
25: The snake slithering up my arm symbolizes willful and unapologetic action.
33: The rose on my wrist shows me that beauty can stem from new beginnings.
“Dad, what do your tattoos mean?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Jonah Ardiel lives and writes short fiction in Calgary, AB, Canada. To read some of his work, visit jonahardiel.neocities.org.