he avoided her father.
But when the wound started to
he knew he’d be left with a scar.
He’d never been cut,
and he wondered why
his uncle, a veteran of undeclared war,
hadn’t warned him about the
aftermath of that.
The crushing humiliation of having one’s mortality
for all to see.
It's Friday. It's the mean season (the writing season), and time for a Flash 55. If you have written a short story in a sparse 55 words, post it and let the world know. Or at least let the G-Man know.
Hello fifty-fivers!! TGIF!
After I posted this, I realized I was a day late, lost in time . . . but not a word shy. So, TGIS!