Supernova on a String

Anthologized in Bath Flash Fiction Anthology Volume VII

Longlisted in the Autumn 2024 Bath Flash Fiction Competition from judge Matt Kendrick

He hates the supernova in her left eye that appeared–out of nowhere– in the eternity and milliseconds after his fist bounced off her face.

The oil slick that spoils the pristine waters of her sclera and creeps into her iris like a clown’s balloon floating across a cloudless sky.

The firework on her gaze that explodes into his consciousness whenever it drifts towards him. Her eyes, wide, like a child’s on Bastille Day holding a doll with buttons sewn into its face that he knows he can’t touch until the dust and pyrotechnics sink back into the darkness for fear of causing a scene.

The wax stamp on his summons. The ink stain on his Sunday best. The gavel banging down each and every blink of her eye.

He hates the thing that’s every man’s worst nightmare until the moment passes and the thing is gone–finally–after all this time, and he’s in the clearing. Only one week left of thick foundation that lets the cracks seep through, until the bruises run away from her face, until she slaps a smile on.