Flash Fiction: Shotgun Baby by Kristina T. Saccone
I met my father-in-law Burt cleaning his shotgun at the kitchen table, each piece laid on a white towel.
I met my father-in-law Burt cleaning his shotgun at the kitchen table, each piece laid on a white towel.
Allegra’s hearing is excellent, considering. Plasticity, the doctor called it.
We both remember what it was like alone, even though that is ancient history as well.
She says we’ll know when the time is right.
It was supposed to be a friendly competition, but we fucking hated First Platoon.
That time and one other time after that, I missed nobody and nothing.
In a Minit Munch parking lot at night, you touched my face and said, “I miss you too.”
It is not a route that expects newcomers.
Mina is like Ruben in that way. She can make dark things funny.
It had always been a joke between them, for reasons that seemed obvious to Connor.