On the rim of the world
our legs dangle over the edge.
We watch your mother, hold hands with her brother,
your pervy uncle Sal.
They kiss, and leap into the abyss, eyes closed.
It makes us wonder.

Other people, other places, other things lie scattered,
from here to the other edge.

The other edge where your father sits
leaning back to back with his brother.
The one you’ve only seen photographs of, the one who was
killed in the war. When he stands, the men shake hands
your uncle steps from the edge.
It makes us wonder.

Relationships, lies, and truths are scattered about
helter-skelter, willy-nilly
edge to edge.

Porcelain Shards

  I wrote this for the January 24th Flash Fiction Challenge

The last of the dessert set goes into the furnace
Final firing for
cups, saucers, plates and bowls.
There’s a coffee pot and warmer,
a creamer, sugar bowl, and cake plate.
All done in a stylized violet motif
A signature design favoured by my father.

This time there is trouble in the kiln
Most likely the sugar bowl blew
I’ll never know for sure though. I lost that sugar bowl,
and it’s lid,
two cups that had been positioned close by.
Fine porcelain reduced to shards.
Doesn’t happen often, but its part of the game.

Move on, make more.

The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about shards. You can write about the pieces, the item they once were, or who picks them up and why. Go where the prompt leads.

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