Pockets emptied, Tim purchased the red blend. He twisted off the cap and chugged while exiting the store. The familiar heartburn, boiled cherries and artificial oak, warmed him.
Invisible to others, a shoulder bumped him. The bottle fell, his outstretched hands useless. He watched his comfort stain the concrete sidewalk.
Melanie Maggard is a flash fiction and short story writer living in Seattle.
Two sisters, best friends, ran to the pool’s edge.
Nostrils filled with chlorine, sunscreen, peanut butter. Mother called, but twenty minutes was forever when shimmery waves signaled.
Everything—the cherry Koolaid mustaches, the sticky fingers—would be wiped clean.
They bent knees, inhaled sharply, pinched noses, then jumped, holding hands.
Melanie Maggard is a flash fiction and short story writer living in Seattle. She works as a psychology professor for an online university but hopes to grow up to be an author some day.