Since I’m on vacation, I asked my amazingly talented cousin, Elise Goldsmith, to contribute to today’s blog. I think you’ll agree that her words, written five years ago, are oh, so relevant and powerful today.
Only Son
The morning news is plague in Middle East.
“Take out the garbage,” I tell my son.
“Yes, father.”
“Did you do your lessons?”
“Yes, dad.”
Exit is backed up. We’re late.
By lunch plague creeps into Europe.
“Want to give blood for plague victims?” I ask.
“Sure, dad. Whatever you want.”
My son smiles at needle and nurse.
He shares his snack.
Night falls. Plague is everywhere.
“His blood is the cure,” the doctor claims.
Relief.
“We need all of it.”
My son or the world? Oblivious, the world rejoices.
All that remains is a cross marking my son’s sacrifice.
E.M. Goldsmith
The above story was a runner up in a flash fiction contest, stories 100 words or less, in November, 2015.
My human does not do headshots. Why are humans so violent? A headshot, really? However, I am far cuter than my human so it is better there be a picture of me. The human fusses at me for taking her Liverpool blanket. As if anything of hers is not also mine.
Elizabeth Musser 