“Side effects,” says the oncologist. The priest says angels have many forms.
In my garden, the unicorn eats my red roses, dripping petals like blood. “Am I dying?” I ask. She snorts, then gallops away.
Next summer, the roses bloom white. My hair grows back curly. The unicorn doesn’t return.
Hannah Whiteoak writes speculative fiction to escape the real world. She is working on an animal-themed flash collection. Follow @HannahWhiteoak or visit hannahwhiteoak.me.
Melissa, Greek for queen bee, settled on soft grass. Her flaxen hair complemented an array of colourful flowers. Her hands picked lazily at the weeds.
The distant river’s current swooshed at the banks. She was at peace, just like her beloved Jacob whose dreary head stone overshadowed her.
Kerry Valkyrie Kelly lives in Ireland with her five children. She went there for the ‘craic’ and enjoys the rural life and local humour.