Grindstone by Karris Rae
She wouldn’t like that he’s smoking again. He lights the menthol between his carbon-blacked fingers, leans against the grimy brick. The ember dazzles as he inhales, then fades. On and off, like the blinking yellow streetlights that see him into third shift. No need for stop lights when no one’s out—the thing about ghost towns is that the restless spirits haunt the day.
She’d said: “You’re gonna die like your dad. Remember that?” Yes, he remembers, and keeps on remembering until the cigarette is an acrid stub. He grinds it into the concrete with a steel-toed boot. Back to work.
Karris Rae is a fiction MFA/MA candidate at McNeese State University. She is a reader for The McNeese Review and an assistant editor for Boudin. Her work has appeared in Metaphorosis Magazine, Reápparition Journal, The Chamber Magazine, and The NoSleep Podcast, and will soon be featured in Fourth Genre Magazine.
Image courtesy of Karris Rae
SUBMIT / MAILING LIST / FFF COMPETITION / CRITIQUE SERVICE / BOOKSHOP / TWITTER / INSTAGRAM / BSKY.SOCIAL / FLASH FICTION / DONATE / LINKS/COMPS/INFO
*
Tags: