September 11. Again.

September 11.

Time to commemorate โ€“ with a game. Again.

Alice rewrapped the bandage around her heart, knowing it might not contain her multiform grief. Sometimes it flashed, luminous, burning; other times it was nebulous, tickling.

She still remembered the day Frank had foisted his chess board upon herโ€ฆ and his deliberate blunder that swung the first game in her favor.


This piece of flash fiction was written in response to:

27 thoughts on “September 11. Again.”

  1. This is a delightful nibble of thought that makes me what the entire cake. Weaving 7 prompts into such few words while speaking volumes is a marvelous gift.

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