Flash Fiction

What was that?

Raccoon problems are chucklesome.

You’re standing by the side gate of your place, waiting for your son to come home on the first day that he’s walking home from school on his own.

I admit I’m freaked out about going under in two days to get big teeth from the back of my mouth pulled, and somehow this devolves into my older sister crouched over her phone after dinner, watching surgeons take metal hammers to hip sockets.