Our Last Midnight Snack
I remember the sound of my pajama feet padding on the linoleum floor. The house was dark, but the kitchen light was on.
It was the night that my brother left us.
I remember rubbing my eyes, squinting up at him. "What are you doing?," I asked.
He just grinned, opened the freezer, and scooped out the Breyers mint chocolate chip into two glass dishes. He lifted me onto the stool and placed a spoon in my chubby fingers. We sat next to each other, eating silently. And afterwards, he carried me back up to bed. Like a sack of potatoes.
A first attempt at micro-fiction, AKA"flash fiction," a form of ultra-short story, described here and here and here.