The Day the Bomb Dropped

Flash Fiction

It was so dark from cracked soot. I wanted to scream and pull my hair.

Dust enfolds and crisp heated air reverberates.

Oh mommy, there are things I should have told year in the year before you died. But the cancer was lined on face and breast.

Oh daddy, oh daddy, why have you forsaken me? I call out but there is a deadness.

I push and the bricks to our garden give way.

The white billowy shaft of crease shoots up into the sky.

My hair does indeed fall to the ground.