Mother compliments the bridge of my aquiline nose. Yet, she’s disbelieving when I tell her that upstairs, baby’s diaper is fetid,
soggy. Inside my twelve-year-old nostrils, tiny, sensitive antennae wave and stretch—absorbing signals. They quiver from the chemicals in Mother’s hair color.
A sharp knock on the door. Mother drops a plate; pizza slices scatter and strew.
“Don’t open,” I say, inhaling the odor of alcohol, another woman’s scent, and the simmer of anger from outside the door.
“It’s Father, I must,” Mother says.
“Don’t!”
Father’s knuckles rap, urgent.
I cannot convince her; when I lost one sense, another sharpened.
A whole life in those few words – well done.
Thank you!
Just WOW!
Thanks, Gina!
So well done!
Thanks, Paul!
Wow. Powerful, Sudha! Great job at capturing so much in so few!
Thank you!
Wonderful title! Great story! Hope to see a lot more of your work.
Thank you for reading, Bobby!
Outstanding!
Thanks, Jane!
The tension! Great work!
Thanks, Meredith!
A powerful piece of micro fiction, Sudha. A whole story yet with so much more to say. Well done.
Thank you so much!
Powerful words, strong emotions. Many thanks for a great read, Sudha.
Thanks!
I didn’t smell it coming~the twist that is. Excellent story, thanks.
Thank you!