Postcard-sized flash fiction about the strangeness of life and loss and everything in between. And it all starts with an image...

hoop dreams

I dream you every night, clear as the empty bottle of gin on my table. I once thought you lived in the bottom of them, so I did my best to drink you free. Turns out you’re someplace darker, more dangerous…my head.
I see you like a memorized photo, bouncing that official sized ball in your eight-year-old hand. You saved up for months for that thing and made me shoot hoops every night. You said it was our own kind of shooting, the kind where no one gets killed. That’s the kind of thing you just don’t say, didn’t I tell you? Even then I believed in the Fates.
Sometimes, just before I peel my eyes open to the morning, you’ll grab my hand, hold it like mom used to make us do before crossing the street. I used to hate that. Now I want to hold on forever. Maybe that’s what this is, me holding on, dreaming you here with me.
I still have the ball you know. Kept it safe, even if I couldn’t do the same for you.

  • Michelle Sampson

    Now this one was simply heartbreaking. I have two friends that have lost children and their lives will never be the same. One has continued on in life as best she could. The other took herself out in the most obvious, I want to die ways. It was so bad I had to let the relationship go. Heartbreaking, that’s what this story is.

    October 17, 2018at7:47 pm

Post a Comment