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Artvoice Weekly Edition » Issue v8n51 (12/17/2009) » Section: Literary Buffalo

Flash Fiction and Poetry

The day came when we could no longer hide the glisten-sight of our daughter’s flippers, nor the secret of her skin, its oils and fur. Like all the other parents afflicted before us, we at last took her to the lonely end of the island, to the cliffs hung high above the breaking surf. There my wife kissed our daughter’s wet nose goodbye, after which I bound her tight in her bedclothes, stilled her wide limbs to her sleek middle.

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