Today I will be posting a flash fiction story by Craig Towsley. When he submitted his writing he stated it was from a larger piece of writing and he thought it could stand on it’s own. Let’s give Craig some constructive criticism or praises of his work. It does not have a title.
Owl wanted to say something, to ask what happened the other night after Raccoon’s father dragged him home and pounded on the door until his mother woke up and opened it.
They were sentenced to solitary confinement and house work detail and hadn’t seen each other for the last week. He kept stealing glances at the yellow, red, blue and purple bruise around Raccoon’s eye. Raccoon ignored him and deflected his questions by staring at the double rainbows overhead.
Owl pulled a handful of wide grasses and blew through them like a harmonica. The forlorn warble fractured the pastoral quiet.