SQUIGGLIES

 

Billy vomited green gunk.

 

“What’s wrong, Billy?”

 

“I got morning sickness, Mom.”

 

“That’s silly. Boys don’t get that.”

 

“Yes they do.”

 

“Says who?”

 

“The little purple ladies from the flying saucer.” 

 

“Dammit! You’re making up weird stories again. You’re grounded for lying!”

 

“I ain’t lying. They shot little squigglies into my stomach with a ray gun.”

 

Worried that her eight year old might be schizophrenic, she decided to contact a psychiatrist.  

 

Suddenly, an inner voice said, “He’s not schizophrenic. Rejoice! Your son will soon become mother of a glorious species.”

 

She didn’t understand why the word brontosaurus came to mind.

 

“I’m too young to be a grandma,” she muttered when Billy vomited again.

 

End

Michael A. Kechula is a retired technical writer. Switching to fiction in 2003, his flash fiction works have won first prize in six contests and honorable mention in three others. His stories have appeared in fifty-eight online and print magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, and the US. He’s authored seven books of flash fiction stories and a self-study book that teaches beginners how to write flash fiction.

Dance to Death, Issue V

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.