Flash Fiction: Mother's Red

“This is you here” #145 © AlbarranCabrera

By Anita Sheih

In the corner of my eye, the light glints

off your lacquered nails, red for luck,

matching your pepper-red dress

dusty-red shoes

poppy-red smile.

Your hand tightens around my waist,

pressing into the scratchy floral fabric,

steadying yourself

against my skin

flesh

being.

I feel the marble railing

jutting

against my hip.

My face, enshrouded in shadow,

I lean, slightly left

to hide.

You hide too, behind your red

facade. 

So does she,

arms crossed, defiant,

defensive,

trying to make herself smaller.

My fingers move slowly.

Single hand curling, and

before it forms a fist,

his shutter goes off—

mother’s red flashing.