Happy Sunday! This 100-word flash surfaced from my horror at the continued mass shootings and trying to imagine how it must feel to be a survivor of one of these senseless tragedies. Let me know your take on the piece.
I stand in front of the glass every evening waiting for the pops. First, just a few at random intervals like the volley of a good tennis match. But as the sound builds, I force myself to endure the open fire, imagining bullets entering flesh.
The ding is the cash register opening. I clench, waiting for any stray pops to complete before peeking down at my torso, amazed I managed to not get hit. And when steam rises from the snack bag instead of stench, the expanded kernels pale as corpses, I’m grateful to not hear body bags zip.
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Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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