By It’s been a while since our last Fictionaut Fiction Nugget, but we’ve got a killer bit of flash this week.
Gary Moshimer has four paragraphs of quiet observation and intense emotion in his story, “The Babies.” There are the things we know: It’s raining, there is a funeral, a survived pregnant widow, the smell of cigarette smoke. And then there are the things we feel: The inability to understand why some people live and some people die; the disparity between sermons and fact; the theatrical movements of a funeral and a burial; the crumbling that happens in the chest cavity that we so inadequately describe as “grief.”
Moshimer is killer with this glimpse, as though the world of “The Babies” were a dark room illuminated by a camera flash, the image lasting longer in the mind than in the moment of seeing.
Can’t get enough of Fictionaut? Neither can we! Check out more of our fiction nuggets, and then check Fictionaut‘s Twitter for other updates around the site.
The things they read. 