Microfiction by Stacey Bartlett
By Stacey Bartlett
I lift my head to the spring breeze, feel it flow over my body, caressing, carrying away the icy torment of winter winds, and the long dark nights. The grass is a green I forgot existed, new as the day and dotted with tiny bursts of yellow blooms.
In the distance, a heavy metal gate screeches out a warning. He is here. Haunches strong and powerful, thighs thick, a stride that speaks with every lumbering step, you are mine, and no is not an option.
Not me, I silently plead, please don’t choose me. I worry for my best friend, fear for myself, dread opening myself to the pain again. He will have us all before he is finished.
The bitter winds have returned when my baby is born. My little one nurses, a love larger than the surrounding mountains filling us both as we shelter under an icy evergreen.
The gate rasps, and my calf is gone. No warning, no mercy. I low, but no one cares, and no one comes. Later, in a grocery store down the road, a human mother reaches into a freezer. She hurries home, eager to feed her child mine.
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Stacey
is a writer living in the beautiful mountains of Western North Carolina. Two of
her novels are published with Monarch Educational Services. Her work appears in
various literary journals, including her short story “Count on the Mountains,”
published in the spring 2024 issue of Reckon Review.