Wanda’s mother tucked her up in bed and blew her a goodnight kiss from the doorway.
Eleven-year-old Wanda deemed herself far too grown-up for kisses. She grabbed the silly thing out of the air, pretended to press it against her lips, and waited for her mother to close the bedroom door and head downstairs.
Quiet as a mouse, Wanda reached under her bed, retrieved a glass jar, and stashed her mother’s kiss away. At last — a full jar! She’d sell it to the highest bidder the very next day during her walk to school.
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“Dylan! Be careful with that car, will you?”
Dylan ignores his mother’s words and continues with his game. It’s an epic race up and down the steepest of hills and around the tightest of corners. His little red Matchbox car is the fastest there has ever been, but that doesn’t necessarily mean its destined to win. The car could spin out over the edge of a cliff and meet its brutal demise at the bottom of a mountain. It could flip in mid-air over and over and land on its roof, its wheels still spinning. It could careen out of control on a tricky chicane and smash into a great fir tree. Continue reading “Race | Flash Fiction”