New flash fiction on 121 Words. 121 Words Water Baby
The ever present, chlorine fug above the waterline bleaches the inside of her nostrils. She’s a graceless swimmer but alone in this dark water she points her toes and secretly dances. She worries at her daughter’s umbilical cord not the physical bridge that tied them together in the beginning but the other one, more chord than cord which still holds them. It’s fraying at both ends now, unravelling as the girl outgrows it in clown’s make-up and perfumed bravado.
She once had a dog that when it was in heat attracted other dogs who came howling through the letterbox. It’s like that now feral boys loiter on the doorstep without making eye-contact. Her daughter will be fine, chord-less she keeps swimming.