Fiction, Nano Fiction

Sunday Rites

Each flick of her wrist reveals more flesh.

An unbroken garland of skin lengthens with the blade’s every pass. The cold hiss of steel, all that slices through the silence.

Fascinated, the children watch, voicelessly.

Her ritual complete, she looks around the table.

‘Now,’ she asks. ‘Who wants some apple?’


Copyright © 2017 Bronwyn Joy Hansen. All Rights Reserved.
Image; Apfel_05 by janine pohl (jacoon) ([CC2.5] via wikimedia)

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