In what feels like a lifetime ago, a rag tag bunch of rogue writers would sharpen their pens every Friday and celebrate the end of a long week with a Flash Fiction Contest. The contest ended in 2015, but now… five years later… Flash Friday is back.
It’s a writer’s reunion, and we couldn’t be more excited. During days full of chaos, we get to retreat into a world of dragons, sorcerers, and powerful truths and hear from good friends each week once again. To join in the fun, visit flashfriday.wordpress.com.
“One day, meu filho, you will be free from all this.”
My father swept his arm over his crops – the crops my parents told me never to touch with my fingers. The crops that so many neighbors would demand as they arrived in rumbling trucks with long rifles. The crops my family would defend as they sent me to fetch water without looking back or worrying about the thunderous pops behind me.
“Why do you do this?” I would ask my father as he labored over the fields he hated.
My answer was always the same. “Ah meu!”
“Why do you do this?” I would ask my mother as she worked her fingers to the bone weaving blankets for customers we would never see.
She would smile wearily. “Freedom.”
“Why do we do this?” I cried when I was told that my brother, Miguel, would never come home again. For years, the answer was the same.
Until my father gave me a packet and said, “New papers, new life.”
I opened it. Froze. “Only one ticket?”
My parents beamed at me through hot tears.
Then I saw Lady Liberty as I stepped onto Ilha Independente.