A boy lifts your skirt at playtime. “Fuck off” you spit, instinct marinated in experience.
He does, in shock, like you over-reacted to finding him innocently glancing around
your bedroom. Later, you’re called to Ms Brokken’s desk for swearing. She weights
the two acts equally: you both stay back and get lines. The world tilts askew: your 8-
year-old girl’s feet will never stand on level ground again. Ms. Brokken inspects and
cleans the board, giving you and your assailant ‘tabula rasa.’ “You won’t do that
again?” She looks at you. No, you shake your head. You’ll do worse.
Micro by Bayveen O’Connell
Image by Adam Strong
Bayveen O’Connell is an Irish writer whose flash fiction has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and for Best Microfiction. Her words have appeared or are forthcoming in Brilliant Flash Fiction, Janus Literary, Splonk, MacQueens Quinterly, The Ekphrastic Review, The Forge, Fractured Lit, and others. She’s inspired by travel, folklore, history, myth, music, and art