Midnight
Nancy Botkin loves midnight. She stands on the porch, wind whispering. She watches moon drifting. Luminous, motherly, never leaving. A new day awakens. Possibilities rise.
She imagines a father who doesn’t burn her stories. Crinkling creation. Flames consuming.
A father who doesn’t demand her to clean. Buy booze.
She conjures leaving. Like Mama, selfish, enviable. Going wherever whims call.
Nancy can’t imagine the shape of winning. What a miracle truly feels like.
Dad always emerges, demands she get inside. She slinks in, weary, unable to find words. Leave me alone.
She hides pieces of dreams, waits for the next night.
From Guest Contributor Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
Mir-Yashar is a graduate of Colorado State’s MFA program in fiction. The recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, he has also had work nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as 50 Word Story, Molecule Lit Mag, The Write City Magazine, and Agony Opera. He lives in Garden Valley, Idaho.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.