There are victims of amnesia on the other side of town. The precious moments spent here are lost in the melee of development.

Why don’t you cross over to meet them?

I did, but claustrophobia drove me back.

Build something here to attract them.

I cannot stand their derision on things they don’t understand.

The sounds reverberate in the silence. When did my grandparents learn enough technology to make a sound-clip of their conversation? Did they know that they may not survive the tsunami sweeping the shores of their existence, but technology will. I wish we had built bridges earlier.

(100 words)


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers


8 thoughts on “Un-bridged

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