In the Brain of the Blind Dog
She walks on four legs, and they are weak. She makes her way towards the steps. She cannot see where they start, where they fall off. She doesn’t need to; she hasn’t for a long time.
She walks on four legs, and they are weak. She makes her way towards the steps. She cannot see where they start, where they fall off. She doesn’t need to; she hasn’t for a long time.
I wake to her fingers on my cheek, heavy and sweet-smelling. My body protests with a sharp yawn as I take her in through the sleep haze. Leg cramp? Nightmare? Do I need to change the sheets?
Milagros had never climbed a tree in her life, her father wouldn’t allow it. Just as he had forbidden her from going with her cousin to the concert tonight. She swallowed the lump in her throat and kicked off her sandals to make the climb easier.
Mom died on Tuesday. On Friday she returned. I slept until eleven that day (it had been increasingly hard to get out of bed). When I finally shuffled into the kitchen, I saw her.
January swallowed me
With my claws and my plans
and dreams
Sprung early from school in mid-May, Rose Wilson started her ‘wild rose summer,’ by boarding a VIA Rail train in Kingston, Ontario. This was the summer she turned 12, so this four-month adventure to Alberta included her parents and her three younger siblings.
Congratulations to the winners of the 2025 Dreamers Flash Fiction and Nonfiction Contest!
At our Case Conference yesterday, you represented my ex-husband, but for a fleeting moment, I heard you advocate for me while attempting to acknowledge an injustice that caused you discomfort.
Albert, our black lab, is scratching his large head, but the Yorkie, Biff, has not begun to stir. I stretch my hand along the sheets to touch George’s shoulder; his absence startles me. It has been six months. But for a moment, I had forgotten that he’s gone.